


Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

by maxvandenburgs



Category: Panic! at the Disco, brendon urie - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Age gap relationship, Car Sex, Catholicism, Church Sex, Daddy!Kink, F/M, Flashbacks, Fugitives, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, On the Run, Orgasm Denial, Original Character - Freeform, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Priest!kink, Secret Affair, Secret Relationship, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, fluff & smut, m/m/f, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 74,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15217187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxvandenburgs/pseuds/maxvandenburgs
Summary: Father Urie is the resident priest of a little church in a sleepy town. He has his entire congregation’s admiration and respect. Yet none of that matters to him. Only one person - one girl - is enough to make him abandon his faith, as he teaches her, lesson by lesson, what it really means to pray for the wicked.





	1. A Brief Encounter

It’s 5 p.m. and it’s raining hard outside. I can hear Dad shuffling around downstairs, moving cardboard boxes around the living room. He’s kind of a nut for organisation. Mom teases him about it, but he never usually finds it that funny. “I just like everything to have its place,” he says. I wonder, if he cared less about organising the cardboard boxes into a particular order, he might have had them unpacked by now.

The rain isn’t cold rain. It’s the middle of August and apparently, it hasn’t rained in this town for two weeks. So it’s overdue, and relentless, making up for lost time. The sky is dark and the air is humid. This is the kind of rain that people dance through in movies. Or the rain that they share their first kiss in. I must admit, the idea of running through the rain when it’s 30 degrees Celsius does sound kind of tempting. Maybe I’ll try it some day.

My new room is bigger than my old one. It’s uncomfortably bare right now. My bed isn’t even constructed yet, so I’m sat on my mattress on the floor, head against the wall, watching the rain. Is this how squatters live? I ask myself. I’ve seen so many ‘aesthetic posts’ on Tumblr and Instagram of barely furnished rooms with mattresses on the floor just like mine. And there’s maybe a couple of threadbare blankets and an old typewriter from like, 1936, and like, twelve succulents just randomly placed on the ground. ‘Oh my God, goals, tens of hundreds of people will stupidly comment, and I’m always sat there thinking to myself, what the fuck? Sorry, but what the fuck is so desirable about living like you’re both dirt poor and from an era pre-WiFi?

I should probably head downstairs and help with the unpacking. I’m thinking about it when Mom knocks on my door and peaks her head around it, smiling that same old familiar smile that means she’s only come to speak to me because it’s been a few hours and she feels obliged to and not because she has any ideas of a conversation that we could have.

“You okay, honey?” she asks.

I nod. “When do you think the rain will stop?”

She shrugs.”It’s coming down pretty hard, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Then there’s that silence that I’ve honestly become pretty accustomed to with my mother. After a beat, she says, “okay, well, we’re gonna order takeout for dinner. Dad’s organised all the boxes for your room into a pile. If you could unpack some, that’d be helpful.”

“Sure, Mom,” I force a smile.

She disappears around the crack of the door. A moment later, she reappears.

“Oh! I meant to say, we’ve found a new church. It’s the best in the area, apparently.”

Again, I smile, but it ends up turning into more of a grimace. My parents treat their religion as more important than me. And honestly, I’m happy for them if believing in some Santa Claus lookalike in the sky comforts them, but I don’t understand why, at seventeen, they still feel the need to drag me into it.

“Cool,” I lie. “Looking forward to it.”

That makes Mom smile. It makes me laugh to think that she believes me.

Once she’s gone, I lie down and close my eyes, just listening to the rain. It’s been a long day of driving and listening to my parents argue over how we’re going to furnish our new house and how Dad is feeling about starting his new job. I don’t want to unpack. I just want to sleep.

This town is smaller than the city where we lived twenty-four hours ago. It’s quieter, and everybody seems to know everybody. I still haven’t made my mind up whether that’s a good thing or not.

Sleep comes easily. My entire body aches and sleeping on a mattress with no bed-frame doesn’t help, but the sound of the rain does. When I wake up the next morning, the rain has stopped, but the sky is still grey. I wonder if it will ever turn blue again.

 

***

 

My family have always woken early on Sundays. Back home (I need to stop calling it home), mass started at 9, so it was rise early or bust. Here, the sermon doesn’t begin til 10:30, but my parents have a no-tolerance policy on tardiness. So we wake early, we eat, and we dress in our Sunday best and head to church.

Honestly, it’s a routine that has become so permanently engrained in my brain that I think nothing of it anymore. As for the service itself, I’ve mastered the art of zoning out whilst still pretending to look interested. Muscle memory helps me in knowing when to kneel and when to pray. I’ve got the structure of a sermon mapped out perfectly in my mind.

I’ve unpacked most of my things, although a few small cardboard boxes are still stacked up in the corner. I stand in front of my closet, staring blankly at my clothes. I have so many gorgeous dresses that my parents have bought me over the years, and truly, they are gorgeous. Day-to-day, dresses aren’t really my thing, but I can appreciate a beautiful gown when I see one. I actually even like wearing them. I suppose they help me to forget who I am, and allow me to step into the shoes of somebody else.

I pull out one of my favourites. It’s a light baby blue chiffon with bows down the centre of the torso. It’s divine, and expensive as fuck, so I don’t feel brave enough to wear it often, but I suppose today is sort of important. A new church, a new congregation - a chance of reinvention, I guess. If I was really going for reinvention, I’d be turning up to church in sneakers and a band tee, but I knew my Dad wouldn’t let me set one foot outside of the house on a Sunday dressed like that. Pretty chiffon dresses would have to do.

I curl my hair. I don’t, usually, but I have the time to. I apply make-up. Again, a rarity. I feel nothing like my fucking self dressed up like this and that’s the best part of it all. If church is a place that has no meaning to me, why would I ever decide to turn up there feeling like me? I don’t think there’s anyone or anything that could convince me to go to church other than for the hour and a half that I’m forced to spend there on a Sunday.

The journey there isn’t that long. When we arrive, there’s already a small gathering of people outside, waiting for the doors to open. My parents, the sociable people that they are, immediately strike up conversations with strangers. That’s a skill that I’ve always been envious of, and bitter that they somehow didn’t pass down to me.

I smile whenever somebody smiles at me. I introduce myself when my parents motion towards me and say, “oh, and this is our daughter...” I stand there looking demure, and presentable, like a china doll. God, I can’t fucking wait until I have the money to move out.

When the doors are opened, everybody files in. My mom grabs my dad by the arm and whispers, “oh God, where do we sit? What if it’s the kind of church where everybody has their own seats? We can’t make enemies on the first day, Bob.”

Dad chuckles. He whispers something to mom that I can’t hear and we all slide into a pew I’m right on the end, next to the aisle. I anxiously pick at the skin around my thumb. Everybody here is unknown to me. Even though I didn’t consider our old congregation my friends in the same way that my parents did, at least I knew them. Here, I’m the outsider. I’m the stranger. I feel a bit sick.

We’re sat waiting for what feels like forever. I keep glancing at my watch, but the minutes hand seems to be moving slower and slower with every glance I take. Why my parents insist on arriving so early is beyond me. The second I leave their home, I’m never setting foot in a church again. Fuck this religion bullshit.

It feels like that first chord of the organ will never arrive. When it finally does, it catches me off guard and I almost jump out of my skin, Everybody rises for the first hymn. It’s slow and dirge-like, so honestly it feels just like being back in our old church again. Nothing changes. I keel my eyes permanently trained on the hymn book. It’s like I can feel the eyes of the congregation burning into the back of me. I wish I could just get up and leave right now. I have no idea where I’d go, but I sure as hell wouldn’t stay anywhere near here.

Once we’re done singing, we all sit and I close my hymn book. Looking up, I feel a lump in my throat. The priest begins to address everybody and I feel my heart begin to pound in my chest. Fuck off, I think, I refuse to believe that that man is a priest. There’s no way in hell...

“I want to thank you all for making the journey today, to share in the word of God,” he says. His voice is thick and deep. I close my eyes and imagine honey being drizzled slowly onto pancakes. His voice sounds like that. My heart is beating harder and faster than ever.

He’s tall, and handsome, no older than thirty. His hair is dark and quaffed, and even from six pews back, I can see how soft and pink and plump his lips are. His eyes are dark, too. I really have never understood people who say they can be attracted to a person’s eyes - until now.

Honestly, I have no idea what he’s saying. I’m too fixated on the way his lips press together and come apart as he talks. Occasionally, his tongue teasingly darts out and wets his bottom lip. Every time he does that, I hold my breath. He speaks with his hands. I watch them just as much as I watch his mouth. They’re large and have protruding veins and his fingers are long and slender. He’s wearing half a dozen rings, at least, carefully placed on different digits. Somehow, they make his hands even more regal than they would be if they were naked. Again, the fascination some girls my age had with boys’ hands had never made sense to me before this very moment. Now everything suddenly made sense.

I’m in an absolute fucking trance watching him. He makes the gospel sound so poetic. He makes it sound like something I could actually believe in. I want to know his name. I want to roll it around on my tongue. I want to know how it tastes. But at the same time, I don’t want to ever know, I feel like if I do, I’ll never stop saying it for the rest of my life.

When everybody starts singing around me, I barely register until the second or third line. I watch as Father prepares communion and bite on my bottom lip until I draw blood. I feel numb and more alert than ever at the exact same time. At the end of the hymn, I realise that one-by-one, it’s time for us to go up to the altar and receive communion. Of course I know this - I’ve been doing this since I was eight years old. I sit down. My legs are shaky. I don’t know if I can do this today. Or ever.

“What are you doing?” my mom hisses.

“I don’t want communion today,” I tell her. I can’t tell her the real reason is that if I walk up towards that man, I think I may pass out. I wish that was an exaggeration, but it’s not.

“You are not causing a scene on our first day here. Get up and go receive communion from Father Urie.”

Father Urie. His surname runs circles in my brain. It suits him. It’s suddenly my favourite word in the entire world.

I get up. Defying my mother won’t work here. With every step that the line takes towards the altar, my chest feels a little tighter. I cup my hands, one over the other, ready to receive communion and I keep my eyes fixated on my hands. If I look into his eyes, and he looks into mine, I don’t know what will happen. The end of the world, perhaps.

The line moves closer. I’m next. I step forward and his fingers delicately place the small round disc into my palm.

“Body and blood of Christ,” he says.

I can’t help myself. I look up.

His eyes meet mine. Mine meet his. He licks his bottom lip and gives me the kind of look that is impossible to decode but certainly means something. I know that if he asked, in that moment, I would have followed him to the ends of the fucking world.

I don’t really remember returning to my seat, or even the rest of the sermon. The next time I remember feeling alive is after mass is over and orderly, we’re leaving the church. Father Urie stands by the doors, shaking the hands of his congregation as they leave.

He shakes my parents’ hands and smiles widely. I feel like a child as I try to hide behind my mother. I’ve never felt so small.

“You must be Bob and Caroline,” he says warmly. “We’re so happy to have you joining us. New faces are always welcome.”

My parents thank him for a wonderful service. They tell him how pleased they are to be living here, and how grateful they are to have been welcomed into this new community with such open arms.

“Of course,” says Father Urie. “And this must be your daughter?”

He addresses me and I freeze. My mom nudges me forward ever so slightly. Father Urie extends his hand for me to shake. I take it automatically and feel like time stands still when I do. He doesn’t shake my hand at all. He just holds it there with a firm grip. He doesn’t let go. When I try to pull out of his grip, he tightens it. It’s like he knows how wild it’s making me.

“What’s your name, darlin?” he asks.

I tell him. He smirks.

“Well, that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

I know my cheeks are on fire. He knows it too. He’s still holding my fucking hand.

Eventually, he relents. “I’m so glad to have met you all personally. Bob, Caroline,” he pauses before saying my name, “I’ll see you all next Sunday.”

His eyes burn into mine with the force of a thousand suns. I don’t want to leave his church. I want to stay here forever.

We leave the church and my heart sinks. I don’t want to go. How can I ever go back to a normal life now that I know this man exists? It sounds so ridiculous. The thoughts running through my mind are thoughts I would laugh about if I saw them written down in front of me on paper, but in this moment, they’re so overwhelming that they feel so valid.

On the car journey home, I close my eyes and just try to remember how it feels to breathe normally, but all I can see is Father Urie’s hands and his lips and me getting down on my knees for him, whenever he wants me to.

“He seems nice, doesn’t he?” my mom asks me.

I nod. “Yeah. Nice,” I echo.

The way that he held my hand insisted he was anything but nice. The way that he gripped it tighter when I tried to pull it away. It all meant something. Suddenly, the prospect of church next week, or the week after that, didn’t seem so tragic anymore.

In fact, the next seven days couldn’t go fast enough.


	2. Through A Golden Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m warning you now, this is the first chapter of many that contains pretty graphic smut content. Y’all have been warned. Read at your own risk.

The next week passes in a hot, humid blur. With school starting in less than a month, there’s no point in me hunting for a job. By the time I secure one, I’d have to give it up. Besides, my parents want me to “get out of the house more” and “explore, sweetheart, whilst you have the time to.” I don’t think that they understand that staying in a house with working air conditioning and WiFi is much more preferable to ‘exploring’ out in the sweltering heat. However, time does pass slowly when you have nothing to do. I text my friends occasionally, but they’re miles away now, not ten minutes down the road, so that kind of sucks. Mom and Dad both work during the day. This is why we should have got a fucking dog when I asked. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely then.

By Thursday, I’m finding the silence almost unbearable. I’ve watched all of the episodes of Friends that there is to watch. I’ve eaten almost all of the junk food in the cupboards. There really is nothing to do except lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, feeling every second tick by.

Perhaps I should explore. This town is small enough that I wouldn’t get lost and everybody is friendly enough that if I did, I could ask for direction. I tug on some beaten up sneakers, grab my phone and my keys and go. It’s so hot outside, I wouldn’t be surprised if I melt before I gave a chance to even make it to the end of the street.

I have absolutely no idea where I am, but I suppose that’s part of the fun of it. It wouldn’t be called exploring if you knew where you were going. So I walk for a while. I stop in a little convenience store to buy a bottle of water along the way and then I carry on, walking past shops and houses and parks and fields until I somehow end up on the outskirts of town. It’s even quieter here than where our house is, which is really saying something. I can hear the light breeze in the trees and every stone of gravel that crunches beneath my shoes. I feel kind of at peace. The sun is shining. Birds are singing. It’s sort of picturesque.

I end up strolling along this country lane lined with trees and flowers. And a few yards away is a church. It takes me a few minutes to realise it’s the same church. Our church. I stop walking immediately.

The tugging inside of my chest pulls me towards the building like a magnet. My head wars with it. I should turn around and just go home. Snooping around is rude, I know that, but God damn it, it’s so tempting. I walk a bit closer, just to see if I can see Father Urie through a window. Maybe he’s reading. Or praying. Or...

My mind’s wandering. Are priests even allowed to do that? I walk a bit closer. I don’t even realise that I’m in the grounds of the church. I look up at the building in all its magnificence. It’s quaint as far as churches go, but the architecture of it is still beautiful. I place my palm flat against the stone wall and it’s warm to the touch. I really can’t stop wondering if Father is inside. For the first time in my life, I feel like I should walk inside, kneel at a pew, and pray.

“What are you doing?” a voice snaps from behind me. I jump and turn, her heart leaping out of my chest. Standing a few feet away, there he is. Has he been watching me this whole time?

“Oh, I, uh...” I begin impossibly.

The man smirks and takes a step towards me. I back up against the wall, dropping my water bottle and keys beside me. There’s nobody around whatsoever. The church is practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s just us.

He murmurs my name, testing its weight on his tongue. “That was your name, wasn’t it?” he asks, continuing to walk closer to me.

I nod. “I’m really sorry, Father,” I spit out. “I wasn’t spying or anything.”

“Spying?” he cocks an eyebrow and laughs. “Well what would you call it, then? Because it sure looked like spying to me.”

He’s less than a foot away from me now. He towers over me and I feel weak at the knees. The sunlight makes him look even more like royalty than he did in the chapel.

“I don’t know, Father,” I answer quietly. “Exploring?”

The second I say it, I regret it. I sound like a fucking five-year-old.

He laughs. It almost sounds like he’s mocking me. “Can I ask you a question, doll?”

I lick my bottom lip and nod timidly.

He presses his palm to the wall beside my head and cocks his own. He’s inspecting me. I close my eyes. I can’t look at him when he’s looking at me like that. “Do you think I was born yesterday?” Father Urie asks.

I open my eyes again and the second I do, I’m met with his menacing gaze. He’s not fucking around. Oh shit, I think, this isn’t a game anymore. “No, Father,” I answer.

“Do you think I don’t know why you’re here?” he asks, his voice suddenly much lower than it was moments ago. He leans in and his mouth is mere millimetre from my ear. I have to press my legs tightly together. “Answer me, sweetie,” he adds. I don’t think he realises that he’s rendered me speechless.

“How can you know why I’m here when I don’t even know why I’m here myself?”

My smart-ass answer really doesn’t impress him. He locks his jaw. I feel teeth graze the top of my ear and let out a quiet sigh. I know exactly why I’m here, and why all I’ve wanted to do all week is to be here, with him.

“Oh, so you’re one with a little bite, huh?” He gruffly replies. My gaze immediately flickers down when I feel a hand resting upon my leg. Oh fuck.

“I told you already, Father,” I insist on maintaining my story of innocence and naïvety. I want to see if it has some sort of payoff. “I was just exploring.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Father Urie says through gritted teeth. His hand moves so that it’s no longer resting on the material of my denim skirt but on the cool flesh of my inner leg. My gut twists into knots. I need his hand closer.

“I saw the way you were looking at me during mass on Sunday,” he says. I feel his lips drag along my jawline. He doesn’t kiss me. I can feel his breath on my face. “It was like you’d do anything I asked of you.

That’s because I will, my brain screamed. I’ll do anything to be yours, even for just one night. “I wasn’t,” I whispers. My breath leaves me in short, shallow breathy gasps. His hand inches further up my thigh.

I’m so wet. I’m so fucking wet.

“You know, darlin, I could get in a lot of trouble for this,” he warns me. I know it. This is so dangerous. Perhaps that’s what makes it so much more exciting.

“I don’t want you getting into trouble,” I tell him. I want to scream at him to do something, anything, with his hand.

“No?” he says. His lips are still pressed to my jaw. The weight of his body is right up against mine. I need his hand. I’ve never needed anything more in my entire life.

“Father, please,” I finally let out. I can tell it’s what he’s been waiting for, because he slides his hand over the material of my underwear. I can feel the outline of his fingers pressed against me and I whine softly. He chuckles.

“My God, you’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?”

All I can do is nod. “I’m scared somebody is going to come by and see us,” I admit. He shushes me. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he does it.

“Relax. Let me take what’s mine. You don’t want me to tell your parents that I know you’ve been sinning, do you?”

‘Sinning’ is so vague that it terrifies me. Surely he would never tell them, could never tell them. He’d be putting his own life in jeopardy.

“No, Father,” I tell him. I buck up into his touch. He doesn’t seem to like that, because his hand that was on the wall is now gripping my upper arm. Hard.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to take control here,” he tells me, his tone dripping with malice. He’s holding my arm so tightly that it hurts. I kind of like it. “Keep still.”

I do as I’m told. How can I not? He uses one of his fingers to hook my panties to one side and I hear him hum, a low, guttural sound emanating from the back of his throat when he feels how soaked I am.

“Oh baby girl,” he coos. “You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

I’ve never been called that before. If I’m being honest, I’ve always hated that word, but hearing Father Urie say it is so hot that I think it’s all I ever want him to call me til kingdom come.

I just breathe as best I can whilst he rubs me slowly. When he pushes a finger inside of me, he groans and I whine. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Oh, I can’t wait to fuck this pussy of yours. Because you know I’m going to, don’t you? I always get my way. You don’t defy your Father.”

I’m so not used to this. My entire body is in overdrive. He adds a second finger and pushes them up to the hilt. I can feel the cool metal of his rings pressed up against my heat. I instinctively grab at his shoulders for support.

“Holy shit, you feel good,” he mutters, pumping his fingers in and out of me slowly. He bites at my ear again and it’s all too much. This feels so good. Nothing else exists except for Father Urie right now.

“You like that?” he asks, with a little laugh tacked on the end for good measure. I nod pathetically. When he hears me whine, he goes faster, until he’s viciously thrusting two fingers in and out of me and I can’t see straight anymore.

A string of moans and whines fall from my lips. His own lips stay pressed against my cheek, his mouth open and hot breath falling from it as he breathes hard. When I start coming, he can feel me convulsing around his fingers, so he grunts, pushing his digits in all the way and keeping them there as my thighs quiver and I hold on around his neck for dear life.

Once I’ve rode out my high, he slides his fingers out of me. I’m so out of it but I am able to see that he lifts the two fingers that he had inside of me up to his own mouth and sucks on them. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

“Hurry along now,” he says. “You should get home. Your parents will be back from work soon, I should think.”

“But, Father,” I begin, because surely we should talk about this. He cuts me off.

“Do as I say, darlin,” Father Urie tells me. “Behave yourself until Sunday. I’ll be seeing you after mass.”

Fuck, I think. Does he want this to become a regular occurrence. I’m shaking just thinking about it.

I start walking back in the direction that I came, dazed as hell, but feeling so high. When I turn and look back at the church, Father Urie is gone. I’m left with a wetness between my legs, a lightness in my head and a burning longing for him, and only him, until the next time that we meet.

 


	3. Come A Little Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is so filthy and I hate myself and love myself simultaneously for writing it but I really hope you all enjoy it. It ends with a little softness, which made my heart soar. Please let me know what you think!

 

When I get home, I take a long, cold shower. Everything that happened in the churchyard feels like a hazy, beautiful dream. I stare in the mirror and don’t even recognise myself. I feel like something inside of me has been unlocked - some new found confidence. An urge, a desire, to stop at nothing before I make that man mine. This is ridiculous. It’s crazy! I don’t even know how old he is. But honestly, to me, that doesn’t matter. We shared some sort of connection outside the church this afternoon, far deeper than the surface-level lust that we displayed. I know that he felt it too. I could see it in his eyes. I could feel it in the way his breath hit my skin.

My parents both get home from work later that evening and we all sit and have dinner and they ask me about my day. I tell them I went exploring, like they asked me to, and I’m grateful that they leave it at that. My parents have never been the type to pry. Maybe it’s because they want to seem ‘cool’ and not overbearing, or maybe it’s because they’re not smart enough to ever work out when I’m up to something that I shouldn’t be.

I think about returning to the church on Friday, and on Saturday, but I don’t. Father Urie’s words ring in my ears. Behave yourself until Sunday, he’d told me. So I do. I distract myself in every way possible from thinking about him. I tidy my room and cook dinner for me, Mom and Dad and I work out a lot, going for runs or simply doing stretches in my room. I have to do as he says. I have to be good.

Late at night, when the urge to touch myself where he touched me stirs, I flick the hair-tie around my wrist against my skin. I read and I read and I read. I can still feel his fingers inside of me when I close my eyes. I can still feel his rings, and I can hear his voice, and I can smell his cologne. I’ve never craved another human being before in my life before him. I’ve never wanted, no, needed, anybody so much as I need him to come to me right now and simply have his way with me.

I can’t sleep on Saturday night. I toss and turn and lie there for hours, eyes wide open. I drift off eventually, because I wake up to my alarm, bleary-eyed and my fatigued head pounding. When I remember that it’s Sunday, I can’t get ready fast enough.

Suddenly, choosing an outfit is a much bigger deal than it was the week before. I spend at least twenty minutes trying on multiple dresses, none of them seeming even remotely satisfactory to wear in Father Urie’s presence. When I slip into a white one, with delicate lace detailing, I smile. It’s the most innocent dress I own. It’s fucking perfect.

I delicately apply make-up that softens my features and I braid my hair so that I’m the true epitome of the model daughter. Father Urie was right. I do know exactly what I’m doing. I’m throwing people off of my scent. Because who would suspect that the angelic girl in white would be fucking the pastor after the service?

When we arrive to church, I go ahead of Mom and Dad who stay out in the parking lot and talk with their new friends. I find the door to be unlocked, because the door a church is always open, and I walk into the empty chapel. My heels click against the floor. I walk towards the altar with a confident stride, chewing on my bottom lip, and when I reach the front, I kneel.

I can feel that somewhere, he’s watching me, and it makes my gut tighten. I bow my head and I bring my hands together. He doesn’t have to know that I’m not really praying; I’m simply waiting for him.

When I feel a strong, large hand against my shoulder from behind, I don’t flinch, because I’m expecting it. “You’re early,” he says.

“Don’t you know better than to disturb a person when praying?” I quip, and I get my desired response when he tightens his grip on my shoulder.

“Get up,” he demands, and I rise without hesitation. I stay facing forward. I can feel his presence behind me and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

“If you want to be a rude little girl who answers back, I’ll show you how you’ll be dealt with in this house of God after mass,” he tells me. He’s pressed up against my back. His lips brush my ear. I can feel his... against the back of my leg.

“Yes, Father,” I whisper. I want to look at him but I daren’t.

I feel him run his hand down my arm. It skates delicately over the lace. I chew on my bottom lip again. “This is a pretty dress,” he murmurs, his voice deep. “You think that just because you put on something like this, God is going to think you’re innocent and absolve you of your sins?”

“I don’t want God to absolve me of my sins.”

“You don’t?”

I need to turn around and face him. He grabs me by my upper arms when I do. Our chests are pressed closely together. “My God,” he breathes, staring into my face. It’s like he’s drinking me in, devouring every feature. “How old are you?” he asks.

“I’m eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in two months,” I tell him. He hums.

“Are you a virgin?”

I nod to tell him yes.

“Good,” he licks his bottom lip. “God always has a plan. He’s been making sure that you save yourself for me.”

I almost go weak at the knees when he says that. I rely on his hands to hold me up by my arms.

“Will your parents let you stay after mass?” he asks.

“If I say that you’ve asked me to, then yes,” I reply.

“Alright,” Father Urie smirks. He releases my arms. I glance at them and see that they’re red from where his fingers have been. I was so riled up when he was holding them that I didn’t even notice the pain.

“Are you going to take care of me after mass, Father?” I ask innocently. I bat my eyelashes for good measure. That seems to affect him, as I notice out of the corner of my eye that he presses his hand briefly to his trousers.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, sweetie,” he coos, smiling down at me with a wicked glint in his eye. I want him right now, on this altar. I’ve never wanted anything so much.

He takes a step away from me and then turns and walks towards the door of the church and I can finally breathe again. I slip into our pew from last week silently and wait for my parents to join me.

“Everything alright?” my mother asks.

I nod. “I just came inside to pray.”

I’ve never seen her look so proud. Oh, if only she knew.

The service that follows is the longest of my life. I wonder if it feels the same for Father Urie too. When I walk up to accept communion this time, I don’t feel any kind of fear. In fact, I can’t get up there soon enough. His fingertips brush my palm as he places the host into them. It feels like an electric shock. When our eyes meet, I know exactly what he’s thinking and indeed, I know that he too, can read me like an open book. I return to my seat and I notice that throughout the rest of the sermon, he has trouble taking his eyes off of me. I smirk at one point. Having this kind of power over somebody is very new to me. I like it. I like it a lot.

Once mass is over and we’ve all sung the final hymn, I stand, along with everybody else, and I notice that Father Urie smiles gently at me. There’s an evil glint in his eye that makes me sigh softly. He’s so fucking beautiful.

“Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” he says. The congregation chime in with “amen,” and then we’re free to go. I don’t know what Father Urie expects me to do now. Should I wait in the pew? Or at the door? What will look the least suspicious?

Of course, he has to say goodbye to everybody first, so I head for the door with my parents. He has this big fake smile plastered onto his face as he says his thanks. He laughs at people’s jokes. I can tell that he’s not really focused on what they’re saying to him, because his eyes keep searching for me, and when he finds me, he stutters on his words. It’s the first time that the word ‘cute’ could have ever been used to describe him in the time that I’ve known him.

“Thanks again for a beautiful service,” my mother says when we reach the door. Father Urie smiles and nods to her.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. “I was wondering, actually, if you’d mind if your daughter stayed behind for a little while. We were speaking before mass today and she was telling me how she’d love to be... more involved with the church. I was going to show her around, perhaps go through some scriptures with her.”

I bite down on my tongue and fold my arms. He’s a dirty fucking liar.

“Oh! Of course,” my mother says excitedly. It’s like Father Urie know that this is her dream. “What time shall we pick her up?”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Father Urie says dismissively. “I’ll drop her home.”

My mind starts swimming with fantasies of being in a car with him. I’m getting warmer by the second.

“Brilliant, then,” Mom beams. She kisses my forehead. I wish she wouldn’t. It’s like she wants me to appear like a little girl. “See you later, honey.”

I wave politely to my parents as they go, and once they have, I’m suddenly much more at ease. I’m actually completely relaxed once everybody has left, and Father Urie closes and locks the chapel doors.

“You can’t do that,” I tell him, a smirk upon my lips.

“Do what?”

“Lock the doors. The house of God is never closed.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, yeah?” he says and he walks up to me and viciously pulls me by the hand. I gasp. Now my heart is racing again, but honestly, it’s more out of excitement than fear.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“My office,” comes his gruff reply.

He leads me out to the back of the chapel and opens a large dark brown wooden door. He locks it behind him. I stand there, arms demurely behind my back, head high.

“You really like to answer back, don’t you?” he says. I’m in the mood to be cocky. I want to see how far I can push him.

“Yes, Father.”

“Do you know what happens to little girls who answer back?” he asks me. He begins to circle me slowly, drinking me in once again.

“They get punished, I would assume,” I tell him. I meet his eyes and I hold him there. He couldn’t pull away from me even if he wanted to.

“They do, you’re right,” he replies. I’m completely caught off guard when he roughly grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls on it. I let out a yelp of pain and I wonder if he feels bad, or if he’s too caught up in his own mind to even notice.

“I want you to get undressed for me,” he hisses in my ear through gritted teeth. He’s behind me again and his body is pressed flush to mine. “Take that dress off. Place it neatly over the back of my chair. We wouldn’t want to ruin such a pretty dress, now would we, kitten?”

Kitten. That’s new. Every new name that he calls me replaces the one before it as my new favourite. I undo the zip at the back of my dress and I slide it down and off of my arms. I’m surprised that I don’t feel even the slightest bit self-conscious. It’s like I know that he’s attracted to me no matter what, so my appearance is irrelevant. It’s so refreshing. I’ve never had confidence like this before.

After I’ve placed my dress on the back of the chair as instructed, I’m stood before him in lacy white underwear. “Should I keep this on, Father?” I ask him.

“No,” he replies gruffly. “No, I want to see you. All of you.”

I undo my bra. I let it slide off of my arms and I drop it to the ground. I watch as he bites his bottom lip. I then slowly pull my panties down my legs and I step out of them. I’m completely exposed to him now. Completely vulnerable. And honestly, here, in this moment, I have never felt closer to God.

“You know, kitten, God doesn’t like wicked girls,” he says. He steps closer to me and he runs his hands down over my breasts and my stomach. One of his hands cups my pussy. I gasp. His hands are cool to the touch. “But the power that he has vested in me means that I can help you repent. I can help you ask for forgiveness.”

“Please, Father,” I whisper. “Help me to ask for forgiveness.”

He chuckles. It’s a low sound that bubbles at the back of his throat. His hand is stroking me slowly, making me wetter by the second.

“Get on your knees, slut,” he demands.

I don’t need to be told twice.

“Do you know what I want you to do?” Father asks me.

“I think so, yes.”

He smirks. “Get to it then.”

With shaking fingers, I deftly unbutton his trousers and pull them down his legs until they’re pooling at his ankles. I lick my lips to wet them as I also do the same with his boxer briefs.

I’ve never seen a cock in real life before. Not up close like this. And whilst I have nothing to compare it to, I’m no idiot. I know it’s impressive. I take it into my hand and Father Urie lets out a small sigh above me. He’s hard already.

“Show me what that mouth can do, kitten,” he coos gently.

I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. But I try. I open my mouth and I take him into it. It’s a peculiar sensation, but I love it. Honestly, I feel like I was born to suck his dick. That my entire life has been leading up to this moment.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmurs, grabbing at my hair again. He’s loosened my braids and pulled out the hair-ties so that it falls down my back and across my face. “Take more. That’s not the best you can do.”

I take him in deeper. I stretch my mouth as wide as I can. He slowly but surely pushes his hips forward into my mouth. I start to gag and I panic. I pull off completely. And he slaps me harshly across the face.

“You fucking whore,” he spits viciously. “You don’t pull off unless I say so. If you gag, you gag. Deal with it.”

My eyes are wide. I’m not frightened, just overwhelmed. I still most assuredly want this.

He pushes back into my mouth and starts to thrust slowly. I let him do the work, if that’s what he wants. I flicker my eyes up to look at him and he moans.

“Oh fuck, darlin,” he says. “You look so pretty down there sucking my cock. You gonna let me really fuck your mouth, huh? This is your punishment, remember?”

I can’t speak, but I try to convey through my eyes that I am undoubtedly his to do with as he pleases. He starts thrusting into my mouth a bit harder and faster, until his movements become sloppy and I start gagging repeatedly. Tears begin to pool in the corners on my eyes.

“Good girl,” Father Urie praises me. “Oh, you’re such a good girl.”

That makes my heart feel all tight and like it’s beating out of time. He has such a profound effect on me.

“I’m going to come down that pretty little throat of yours, kitten,” he warns me. “And you’re going to swallow every last drop, got that?”

I whine around his cock. I can tell that the vibrations from it drive him crazy from the look on his face.

He starts grunting softly. There’s sweat sticking to his forehead and his torso. His hips start stuttering and he pushes deep into my mouth and holds my head there. Hot liquid spurts from the end of his cock straight down the back of my throat and I can do nothing but wait for him to finish and pull out before I can swallow it down.

“Hold it in your mouth, slut,” he demands. I do. He grabs my jaw roughly with one hand. “Open up. Let me see.”

I show him his cum that’s sat in my mouth, coating my tongue. Some runs down my chin. He smirks wickedly. “Oh fuck,” he says. “Be a good girl and swallow.”

I do as I’m told. It’s warm and salty but not entirely unpleasant. I watch as his cock starts to soften now that he’s spent.

“Am I forgiven, Father?” I ask him. My voice is hoarse.

“You’re getting there. It’s going to take time,” he replies. He offers me his hand and he pulls me up. I practically fall into his arms. He wraps a strong arm around my back to support me. “Go over there and lay on the desk, you little whore,” he instructs. I do as he says without hesitation.

“You took your punishment so well,” he tells me. “It’s only fair that you get a treat, isn’t it?”

I whine pathetically. “Please,” I beg. I need this so much.

He sits at his office chair and chews his bottom lip. “Spread your legs.”

I do. He uses one hand on either of my thighs and before I even know what’s happening, his tongue is lapping at my wetness, and I let out a sharp, short scream.

“You like that?” he murmurs. I nod ridiculously fast.

“More. Please, more,” I beg him.

He gives me what I ask for. His tongue is fucking magic. He sucks on my clit and I moan. He pushes his tongue inside of me and I whine. My head is hanging upside down off the back of the desk. My legs are hooked over his shoulders. I can’t stop making obscene noises as he eats me out like it’s his fucking full-time job.

I haven’t yet built up the stamina, nor do I have the experience, to last for very long. “Father,” I gasp. “Oh Father, I’m so close.”

I mewl and whine and moan and I dig my own nails into my thighs. I scream sharply when I start coming. Father Urie moans into my pussy when I do, which all but heightens the experience. I can’t see straight. Tears fall from my eyes. I want to feel like this forever.

My body goes slack when I’m finished and suddenly all I want to do is sleep.

Father Urie lets me be. He walks over to the other side of the room and from the clink of glass on glass I presume he’s pouring himself a glass of whiskey. My suspicion is confirmed when he comes over to me, lifts my head, and brings the glass to my lips. “Take a sip, kitten,” he says softly.

What happens next cuts through my post-orgasm haze. I feel Father Urie’s lips press themselves briefly to my forehead and I have never wanted for anything more than to be held by him.

“Can you sit up?” he asks. I can, so I do. My head is swimming.

“What time is it?” I ask him.

“Noon.”

I hop down off the desk and almost lose my balance, Father Urie was over the other side of the room a mere second ago but suddenly he’s here, arms around my waist.

“Woah, easy there, sweetie,” he says softly. “You okay?”

I nod. “Do I look okay?” I ask him, and I look up into his eyes.

He smiles sweetly. “You look pretty fucked,” he admits.

I walk over to a mirror. He’s right. “I can’t go home looking like this,” I say.

“Shh,” he soothes. “Get dressed. We’ll get you all cleaned up. Your parents won’t suspect a thing.”

As I’m slipping back into my underwear and my dress, he watches me, glass of whiskey in hand. There’s something off about the way he’s looking at me. The only word I can think of to describe it is guilt.

“You’re very special, little one,” he tells me. “I hope you know that.”

“Sure,” I murmur. He did make me feel special. But now that I’m on the comedown, I’m having doubts. Am I the only girl who he’s ever done this to? Or am I just one of many?

“Come here,” he says, and it’s so gentle and out-of-character that it scares me more than when he says it roughly. I go to him. “Sit down on the floor.” So I do.

He walks over to his desk and produces a hairbrush from a drawer, and then he comes back over and sits behind me, one of his legs either side of me. I sit there cross-legged and sigh when he gently begins to brush my hair, running his fingers through it softly. Once it’s de-knotted, he begins to separate it into sections. It takes me a few moments to realise that he’s braiding it. I smile to myself and duck my head.

“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask him.

“I have three little sisters,” he says. “Well. They’re not so little anymore. But they were once, and my mom wasn’t around, so I used to braid their hair every morning before school.”

“My mom used to braid my hair when I was younger too,” I reply. “It was my favourite part of my morning routine every day. We’d talk about everything - about what a good day it was gonna be, about what I wanted for dinner that night... now we barely talk at all.”

He doesn’t reply to that. I don’t think I expect him to. He keeps braiding my hair and ties them at the end with the hair-ties he’d removed earlier. He’d kept them into his shirt pocket all along.

“There we go,” he says finally. “That’s much better.”

I turn my head so I can look at him. I think I look a bit too long, but I can’t help myself. He’s so beautiful.

“I should be getting you home, doll.”

I nod. He helps me to my feet and I sort my make-up out quickly in the mirror. “Do I look okay?” I ask him.

He smiles warmly. “Good as new.”

His car is clean and still has that new car smell. It looks and feels expensive. At some point, I must fall asleep, because I wake up to being in my own bed, with no recollection of how I ended up there. The moment that I’m awake, I start missing him. I don’t want to ever be apart from him. And when the realisation sinks in that I have a whole week until I can see him again, I begin to cry. I wish that he’d woken me up in the car to say goodbye.

It isn’t until later that evening, when my parents tell me, that I realise he’d driven around the town for two whole hours to let me sleep, because he thought I needed the rest, and he was too fearful of waking me that he’d asked my dad to come to his car and carry me into the house.


	4. A Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! A smutless chapter. Can you believe? Honestly, this one is quite short and just a bit of a filler, so sorry if it’s a bit boring or not the filth that you were expecting. Trust me when I say that Chapter 5 is going to be insane... love you guys. Let me know what you think.

 

School is fast approaching and Mom wants to go shopping for supplies. I suppose, seeing as I have nothing better to do, it’s not the worst idea in the world. The drive to the closest Target is half-an-hour and that in itself makes me realise that my parents really did move us to the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

It’s Wednesday, and I’m counting down every day until church again. It’s funny how quickly a person can have such a deep effect on you if they’re important enough. There’s not a moment that goes by when I don’t think about how much I miss Father Urie’s voice, or his scent, or the way his fingers felt running through my hair. When I wake up every morning, he’s the first thing on my mind. When I go to sleep, I dream of him, and only him.

I wonder if this is what falling in love feels like. Even more than that, I wonder if he feels the same way that I do. Things get hard when I realise that he most likely doesn’t.

My mom doesn’t say a word to me the entire journey there. We sit in our usual amicable silence. I put my earphones in and close my eyes and let the whole world melt away into the humid late August air.

Once we’re in the stationery aisle, it hits me that I start Senior Year in two weeks time. Not only that, but I start Senior Year in a brand new school where I know nobody and nobody knows me. The prospect of that excites me far more than it scares me. I can be anybody that I want to be. It’s a completely clean slate, and I am the kind of person who is constantly feeling like my life needs to be attacked with an eraser.

“These are cute,” my mom says, pointing out some polka dot notebooks.

I smile politely. They’re hideous. “Yeah, they’re nice.”

“Honey,” she says, putting the books back on the shelf. “Be a little more co-operative, okay? I feel like I’m doing all the work here.”

“Mom, I couldn’t care less what notebook or pencil case I have for school this year,” I shrug. “Pick out what you like. If you like it, I’ll like it too.” God, I really know how to butter her up.

She smiles and starts talking to herself, rummaging through the stationery section.

“Psst.”

I turn my head, but there’s nobody on there. A moment later, I definitely hear somebody call my name in an exaggerated whisper. I look up. Poking his head around the aisle is a guy with dark hair and sunglasses on and... oh. Fucking hell.

“I’m just gonna to the bathroom,” I tell my mom. She mutters something and I rush to him. Instinctively I tug him by the arm completely out of her sight.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a hushed whisper.

He smirks. “I’m shopping. Don’t priests need to eat too, darlin?”

I groan. He’s an ass. “You know what I mean.”

“Do you think I’m stalking you or something?” he asks.

Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past him. “No,” I say.

“You’re very trusting,” he tells me, and he runs his fingers over the back of my hand. “You should be up on your guard a little more. There’s bad people out there who take advantage of naïve girls like you.”

The irony in his comment makes me shake my head dismissively. “Father,” I whisper. “Please. Not here.”

I look up and meet his gaze. Every time that our eyes stare into one another’s, it’s more intense than the time before it. It’s like every time I look, I learn a little bit more about him.

“I can’t be satisfied only seeing you once a week,” he admits to me. “I had to see you again. I had to find a way to get to you.”

“So you did follow me here?” I ask him again. He doesn’t reply. Oh my God. He did.

“Sweetie, listen to me,” he says, his voice low and quiet. I breathe in his every word like it’snicotine. “We need to make some sort of arrangement. We’ll come up with a plausible story to appease your parents. I just... I need to be able to see you more than once a week.”

I poke my head back around the stationery aisle. My mom is still happily looking at packs of pens and weekly planners. I look back to Father and I nod. I want this, too. He’s right. Once a week isn’t enough.

“Do you have any ideas?” I ask him.

He nods. “I’m going to suggest you come and work underneath my counsel?”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m going to take you on as my secretary.”

I smirk at him and fold my arms across my chest. “Kinky.”

He gives me a look so menacing that tells me he won’t be forgetting that any time soon and that I’ll be receiving a very severe punishment for it in due course.

“Okay, okay,” I smile. I wonder what it would feel like to make him laugh one day. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

“I’ll make it work.”

We share the same devilish smirk and I realise how similar we are, and how I think that he is the only person I have in my life right now that actually understands me.

We head over to my mom together. “Look at who I bumped into on my way back,” I smile brightly.

“Oh! Father! What a pleasant surprise,” Mom says happily.

“Lovely to see you as always, Caroline,” he says.

I fold my arms and stand back. This exchange will be interesting. I just hope to God that it works. After they’ve exchanged pleasantries and small talk for a few minutes, Father Urie clears his throat.

“I was wondering, actually,” he begins, “if I could make a proposition. Your daughter, she... she took to the church so well on Sunday. And from what I can assume, she really enjoyed her time under my tutelage.”

My mother looks at me for confirmation. I nod my head excitedly. The look on her face is priceless. The fact that she thinks I’m genuinely enthused about religion is laughable.

“Well, that’s great to hear,” my mom says. “What’s your proposal, Father?”

“I’d like to take her on as my secretary,” Father tells her. My mom looks a little taken aback, but not necessarily in a bad way. I put my hands behind my back and cross my fingers, a superstition I’ve always believed in.

“Would that be alright with you?” Father Urie asks her. “I’d have her organising my correspondences to the other parishes, and my requests for weddings and funerals and the like. But she’d get the experience of working in the church. Of course, I’d run her home every evening to save you the hassle,” he offers kindly.

My mom looks like she’s just won the lottery. “I think it’s wonderful!” We’ve been wanting her to get more involved with the church for a long time now. What suddenly changed your mind, honey?”

I feel both her eyes, and his, boring into me. “Oh. You know,” I shrug, and I look at him. He’s smiling such a beautifully wicked smile. “Just felt right,” I say.

“How does tomorrow night sound for making a start?” Father Urie suggests. I close my eyes and I know that he can see how that affects me. That’s so soon. It’s not enough time to mentally prepare myself for the kinds of things that he’ll do to me.

“Tomorrow night sounds great,” I smile forcefully whilst biting my tongue. I know that he knows how deeply he affects me. His words are the greatest weapon in his arsenal.

“Fantastic,” Father Urie smiles. “Swing by at say, six? I’ll have you home by ten, if that’s not too late,” the second part is addressed to my mother.

“Sounds perfect to me. Oh, this is marvellous! I know that she’ll learn so much under your counsel.”

“That’s the plan,” Father Urie smirks, and he looks at me with a twinkle in his eye. He says goodbye to the both of us and I watch him walk away until he’s completely turned the corner. Fuck, I’m so obsessed with him.

The entire way home, Mom won’t shut up about what a wonderful opportunity she thinks this is, and how she has complete faith in Father Urie to teach me more about God than any of our previous pastors. Perhaps she’s right, because hearing that man moan my name is the closest to heaven I think I’ll ever get.

Later that evening, Mom comes up to my room. I don’t hear her come in at first. I take out my earbuds and the tinny sound of my music reverberates from their tiny speakers. I pause the song.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She perches cautiously on the end of my bed. “I just wanted to say how proud I am of you,” she begins and oh, I think, here we go again. The mandatory ‘talk’ that we have maybe every six months or so, where she reminds me how much she loves me, just in case I’ve forgotten. This chat already has a different tone to it though, so I’m more inclined to listen.

“Thanks, I guess?” I say. “But I haven’t really done anything.”

“Oh, but you have. I’ve always been so worried that when you turn eighteen, you’re... well, that you’re going to turn against God completely. So to see you connecting with Him is reassuring to me. God is the only constant in our lives. You know that, don’t you?”

Father Urie is a constant in my life, I think. “Sure, Mom. I get it.”

“I know this move hasn’t been easy,” she says softly, “and it’s comforting to see you seeking solace in God. I think Father Urie is good for you. He’s teaching you well. I knew it was just a matter of time. All we had to do was find the right church and the right pastor and all the pieces would fall right into place.”

“He’s a nice guy,” I say. I think about the way he pulled my hair the other day, and the way he made me open my mouth to show him his own cum coating my tongue and suddenly ‘nice’ doesn’t seem like the best word to describe him.

“He is. I trust him wholeheartedly,” she tells me and I can tell from the look on her face that she trusts him more than she probably trusts me. Oh, if only she knew. “Hey,” she whispers, “he’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”

Immediately, I scoff. “Mom!” I scold her. “You can’t say that. He’s a priest. He’s devoted to God.”

Mom laughs lightly. “Am I saying that I’m going to act on it?” she chuckles. “Can’t I acknowledge a good-looking man when I see one?”

“Oh my God, please stop talking.”

She laughs again and leans across to kiss my forehead. It gives me flashbacks to when Father did that after he’d made me come so hard I’d forgotten my own name, and I silently vow for my mother to never kiss me on the forehead again.

“I love you, y’know?” she smiles.

I feel so fucking bad for her. She’s so naïve. “I love you too,” I say.

For the rest of the night, I lie there with my headphones in and try to drown out the rest of the world. I wish that Father Urie was here beside me, and I also wish that I could go back in time to a time when I didn’t know he existed. I’ve never felt so consumed by another human being before. I have never felt so empty inside, so hollow, when he’s not there. I refuse to believe that I’m falling in love. It’s far too soon. It’s just a stupid, fleeting crush. These feelings will fade, in time.

When I sleep, I dream of his hands on my body. I can see his mouth against my chest. In my dreams, he’s inside of me, and his lips aren’t afraid to meet mine. He whispers my name, and he tells me things that I don’t expect to ever hear him say in real life. I want him, and only him, fir the rest of my fucking life.

When I wake up, I have a hand between my legs, and a wetness upon my fingers.


	5. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Hello again, guys! This chapter was super, duper fun to write. It’s very smutty, but for all you fluff fans out there, I’ll let you know now that Chapter 6 will be smut-free. Thank you so much for the support so far. It means the world!

_“Wear a pretty, innocent dress tonight but have the sluttiest fucking underwear that you_

_own underneath. See you soon.”_

 

I’ve been staring at the text on my screen for the best part of an hour. How he got a hold of my phone number is beyond me, but I’m too nervous to reply and ask him. My palms won’t stop sweating. I’m so looking forward to tonight.

I have this dress that my grandma bought me and it’s so appallingly sweet that I think I’ve only worn it once. It’s a delicate cotton, deep navy in colour, and it has embroidered flowers running around the hem which just skirts shy of my knee. She bought it for my fourteenth birthday. I’m surprised that it still fits. If Father Urie wants pretty and innocent, pretty and innocent is what he shall get.

As I’m getting ready, I can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline course through my veins. There’s something so exciting about sneaking around, and doing things that I know that I shouldn’t. Ever since Father Urie came into my life, it’s like I’ve finally been seeing in colour, and that everything before him was just black and white. I feel electric, even when I’m not with him, like I have lightning in my fingertips. I don’t want to imagine ever not feeling like this ever again.

Before I leave to go to church, I take a long hard look at myself in the mirror. I contemplate whether I should feel bad for going through with this, for leading a man of God into temptation and sin. I’m not religious. I never have been. But Father Urie clearly is. Should I feel guilt for seducing him, or is that entirely on him for making the first move in the churchyard last week? I never asked anything of him, but I also didn’t refuse when he offered. Morally, I felt trapped in no man’s land, with no map to guide me to the correct path. I knew that if anybody ever found out about what Father and I were up to, there would be the most violent of repercussion. I also knew that the majority of said repercussions would be on him.

I don’t want my clouded judgement to spoil the evening, so before my parents get home from work, I steal a bottle of vodka out of the liquor cabinet. I pour a fair amount into a glass, mix it with orange juice, and drink it far too quickly for sometime as inexperienced with alcohol as myself. However, the liquid confidence is helpful and by the time I hear Mom’s car pull into the driveway, my head is buzzing. All I want is to see him, to touch him, to feel him.

I barely give Mom a chance to sit down before I’m telling her that we need to go, that Father Urie despises tardiness, and that I don’t want to make a bad impression on my first day.

I pick at the skin around my fingernails anxiously as we drive. Mom picks up on it. “There’s no need to be nervous, honey,” she soothes. “It’s just a bit of filing.” Just a bit of filing, I tell myself. Just a bit of filing.

The gravel of the church car park scatters beneath the car tires as Mom pulls to a stop outside the doors. “Have fun,” she smiles, and she leans across the centre console to kiss my cheek. “Text me if you have any problems, okay? I’ll come pick you up early if it’s not really your thing.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, and I climb out of the car and wait until she’s driven completely out of sight before I go up to the door.

I push them and they open with ease, so I walk into the chapel and slowly walk through the porch to the aisle. I see him kneeling before the altar. His head is bowed. He looks so beautiful, so calm, that it takes me a moment to realise that he’s praying.

The clink of my Mary-Janes is undeniable as I approach him, the sound they make as they thwack against the tiles in perfect rhythm with my heart. I’m oddly calm. Father Urie doesn’t make me nervous like he used to. Coming to see him now he feels like coming home.

The closer I get, the more obviously I can hear him muttering Hail Mary’s beneath his breath. I wonder if he’s praying for himself or for me.

I’m right behind him and he stops speaking. I know he can sense how close I am. “Go and make sure the front door is locked,” he tells me without turning around to address my face. I walk back up the aisle and I lock it. I double and triple check it. Then I return to him and he’s standing now, and watches me walk down towards him. His hands are clasped in front of him. He has a smirk upon his lips.

“Glad you could make it,” he says. His voice is low and gruff and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I ask him what I’ve been burning to ask him ever since I hear that iMessage ‘ping’ earlier that day. “How did you get my phone number?”

“I have my ways,” he says vaguely.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” I reply, a little short with him. His face immediately changes, clouded with a rage that isn’t a real anger but more of a lust-driven urge to do something obscenely wicked to me.

“And I won’t tell you again, you do not answer back to me,” he says, closing the gap between our bodies. He grabs me roughly around the waist and I gasp. Sometimes, he looks at me like I am the most desirable girl on the planet, and I wonder how on Earth he could possibly think that about someone like me.

“I’m sorry, Father,” I apologise. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it’ll happen again,” he counters, catching me off-guard. “Because that’s just who you are, isn’t it? You’re a mouthy little whore who likes to talk back.”

My eyelids flutter shut and my lips part as he tightens his grip on me. When he gets into this mindset, I know that lust completely becomes him. It’s like he has a dual personality. He’s proved to me that he cares, in more ways than one, but similarly, he can be so rough. Oh, he can be so rough.

“Yes, Father,” I mutter. “Yes, that’s right.”

“You know,” he begins, tugging lightly on my hair. “I’m not so sure I like this ‘Father’ business...”

Where the fuck is he going with this? I look into his eyes and don’t say a word. He opens his mouth to speak.

“I want you to start calling me Daddy,” he says.

My gut feels like it’s on fire. This is the kind of shit that is splashed across those aesthetic Tumblr blogs, that girls supposedly crave. I wonder how many of them actually get it. I also wonder how many of them actually really, truly want it in the way that I do. I’m not the least bit scared. I want him to ruin me.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, playing up my innocence as I bat my eyelids coyly.

He lets go of me completely and I huff out a sigh. “Will you fuck me in here?” I ask him. I should feel bad. I should feel so bad. This is a place of worship. This place is sacred to so many people. But to me, it’s just a room. And it’s fucking gorgeous. So I want my first time to be in here.

“If that’s what you want, baby girl,” he drawls, and he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. I want to kiss him so fucking much, but I’m petrified of the rejection. Our lips are so close. He presses his chest to mine and then he throws me down onto the altar. It hurts a little, but I downplay it. The pleasure will be worth it.

He uses his large hands to spread my legs apart. I prop myself up on my forearms and watch him. I have lacy black underwear on, just like he asked. It’s not that risqué, but it’s the most sinful set that I had.

“Daddy’s wanted to fuck you ever since he laid his eyes on you,” Father Urie tells me. His voice is much deeper now. I can tell how hard he must be just from the tone of his voice.

“I want you to fuck me, Daddy,” I whine. “I’ve been dreaming about it. I just... I need you inside of me so fucking badly.”

Father Urie reaches between my legs and runs his fingers over my underwear. I shiver. I’m already starting to get wet. The hair pulling triggered that.

“You’re not on contraception, are you?” he asks.

I shake my head no.

He hooks my panties to the side and slides his fingers along my pussy. I can’t help but whimper. I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from being so loud. Everything echoes in here.

“God, you’re always so fucking wet, sweetie,” he coos, slicking up his fingers with my arousal. “I really make you feel this good, huh? You want me this bad?”

I nod pitifully. What sort of a question is that? Of course I fucking do.

When he pushes a finger inside of me, I moan loudly and grasp at the white tablecloth beneath me. Father Urie clamps his hand down over my mouth, using his other one to pleasure me. “God is gonna be so mad at you if he hears what a little slut you are,” Father hisses. “Those sounds are for me and me only. I don’t wanna fucking share you,” he admits, and I fall a little bit more in love with him.

“Daddy,” I whine through his hand. I know he hears it simply from the look on his face. He clenches his jaw and unexpectedly adds a third finger without warning and thrusts hard. I scream against his palm and my entire body jolts. Fuck, it feels so good. I need more. More, more, more.

He uses his fingers on me a little while longer and when he eventually pulls them out, I crave them in their absence.

“Suck on these, you filthy whore,” he spits, shoving his fingers into my mouth. “Taste yourself on me.”

I do as he pleases. The act turns me on more than I could imagine. I know I must look so fucked. Dress risen up, my entire face flushed and my hair damp, and three of my pastor’s unholy fingers in my mouth.

“Dirty, dirty slut,” he hums. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and tugs me upright so he can get me out of my dress. He unhooks my bra and slides it down off my arms, immediately sucking on my breasts. I moan loudly. That’s new for him, but damn it feels so good.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a week,” he growls, slapping my thigh harshly. I yelp and then whine. I’m so turned on that I think I could come from his insults alone.

“Daddy,” I beg him. “Daddy, please. I need it.”

“Need what, darlin?” he smirks, and he leans down and gently kisses my cheek. This fucker is going to be the death of me.

I can’t stop whining long enough to get a fully coherent sentence out. “C-cock,” I stammer. “Need your cock.”

He pulls away from me completely and towers over me like some sort of God. I’m shaking. He slowly begins to undress for me. I only just realise that I’ve never seen him without clothes before.

First goes his tie and shirt, and then his trousers, and his boxers, until he’s standing before me, cock in his hand, jerking it slowly, the sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows and paining pictures across his bare skin. I chew on my bottom lip and start absentmindedly rubbing my own clit. He notices and slaps my hand away aggressively, taking hold of both of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I’ve never seen him look so angry before.

“You dirty fucking slut,” he repeats. “How dare you touch yourself without my permission?”

He kind of scares me and excites me at the same time. I don’t know whether to laugh, moan or cry. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry,” I plead with him. It’s all part of the game.

He slaps my cheek hard and it stings. My God, it stings. I want him to do it again. And again, and again, and again. “Touch yourself like that again and see what happens, you obnoxious little whore,” he spits.

I wouldn’t dare. He’d probably stop this entire thing altogether and leave me chained here to the altar with no release all fucking night.

He lets go of my wrists but I keep them where he put them. He takes a hold of his dick again and gets himself off a little. It’s absolute fucking magic watching him do that.

“Daddy, I’ve been so good for you,” I plead. “Can I please, please have your cock now?”

Father Urie smiles. He teasingly brings the tip of his length to my pussy and rubs it against my wetness. I’m absolutely soaked. “Go on Daddy,” I urge. “I can take it.”

He gives me a look, a softer look, as if to say ‘no, I’m not sure that you can’. It’s easy to forget I’m a virgin when I talk like a fucking pornstar.

“Daddy cares about you,” he soothes. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you hard, but he needs to make sure that he doesn’t hurt you, because then he wouldn’t enjoy it himself. So if it hurts... will you tell me?” his voice changes when he switches to first person. I don’t need to use words. I just look into his eyes and nod and that tells him everything he needs to know.

He starts to push inside of me and I moan loudly, the sound echoing around the entire church. I grip at the sheets again. This is the most peculiar sensation in the world, but also the best fucking thing ever. How can it be both at the same time?

He’s about two inches in when he stops moving and looks into my eyes for reassurance. I nod. He keeps going.

I won’t lie - it does hurt a bit. He’s stretching me wide open, but God, I don’t want to tell him because I’m afraid he’ll stop. I take a couple of deep breaths but when he reaches a certain point, I let out a scream, tears pooling in my eyes. He doesn’t pull out but he does stop moving.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he soothes. “I’ll give you a second. Let me know when I can go again.”

I take a moment to adjust to his size, just lying there, eyes closed, breathing steady. “Okay,” I croak. “Keep going. Want you to fuck me.”

He bottoms out and he finally moans. And then he starts to pull out. And then pushes back in again. And before I know it, the pain has dissipated and he’s thrusting into me and all I feel is undeniable pleasure.

“Daddy,” I plead. “Oh, Daddy. You feel so good. Please don’t stop. Don’t ever fucking stop.”

I clutch at my own breasts and my stomach and my face and anywhere that isn’t my clit. He thrusts a little harder and a little faster. His hand up in my hair, anchoring himself there as he really does start to give me the best fuck of my life. Even though I have nothing to compare it to, I know I’ll never forget how this feels for the rest of my life.

The altar rocks beneath me as he fucks into me. My entire body is trembling. I know that I’m close. I can’t stop whimpering or moaning and Father is relentless in his thrusts.

“Dirty little girl,” I hear him mutter as he fucks me. “Dirty, dirty little girl.”

My gut starts to tighten and I can’t stop whining. I can’t even warn him that I’m close because I don’t have words. All I know is that he’s inside of me, and he’s fucking me and he’s... and I’m and oh... yes. Right there. Right fucking there.

I scream as I climax, my body rocking through my orgasm. Father Urie’s thrusts slow and he grunts as he feels me clench around him. Although I can barely think straight after I’ve come, but surprises me most as I’m on my comedown is that he’s still fucking me - not with the same velocity as before, but he’s still going. And fuck, I’m so sensitive.

“Oh darlin,” he says condescendingly. “You didn’t ask Daddy if you were allowed to come, did you?”

I whimper. Oh fuck. Is he going to punish me? Half of me hopes he will, and the other half wants to run far, far away. I don’t know if my body can handle it.

He gives me no time to process anything. He pulls his cock out of me and I whine at the sudden emptiness. I miss feeling full. But then... oh. Oh fuck. His tongue is there, pressed against my vagina, and he’s licking up the mess that I’ve made and he’s flicking his tongue teasingly against my clit and my body can’t handle this kind of overstimulation. I’m shaking all over.

“I’m gonna make you come again whether you want to or not,” he says gruffly. “And this time, it’ll be on my fucking terms.”

I start crying. I feel so overwhelmed. My body is in overdrive. His tongue feels so good and so bad. When he pushes it inside of me, I scream. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this.

When I start feeling myself careering towards the edge, I warn him. “Da-Daddy... I’m gonna come soon,” I say.

“Is that right?” he replies through gritted teeth. His tongue is still working its magic against my warmth. “What if Daddy doesn’t want you to come yet?”

Please, I think. Please, please don’t do this.

“I can’t do it,” I plead with him. “I need it. Please... please let me.” At this point, I don’t know what else I can do.

He continues to eat me out like his life depends on it and I feel myself about to come. I dig my nails into my own thighs and scream through my teeth. When I hear those magic words, I know it’s over for me.

“Come, darlin.”

I almost completely black out as I orgasm a second time, body convulsing on the altar. I’ve never felt so good. I have never, ever felt so good.

It’s quiet for a few moments, save from the ringing in my ears. When I come back down to Earth, Father is standing over me, and his cock is in his hand, and he moans as he jerks it. I hear him let out a strangled sigh as he comes, and feel his release land across my chest. I wish I could be better for him, somehow. I wish I could make him feel as good as he’s made me feel.

He pulls me up like a ragdoll, and I flop into his arms. Our bodies dripping in sweat, press against one another. He holds me, wraps me up in his arms. And I begin to cry.

I’m not sad, so I’m not too sure why sobs wrack my body uncontrollably. Do I feel guilty? Do I feel wrong? I’m scared that he’s just using me. I’m worried that I’m the means to an end when I would literally take a bullet for him if he asked. He shushes me, and whispers my name, and presses delicate kisses into my hair. I want to wrap this memory up in cotton wool and store it in a jar, and I also want to never think of it again. I feel absolutely exhausted.

The next thing I know, the smooth white tablecloth is being wrapped around my body, and I feel him lift me up and off of the altar, one arm beneath my legs and the other around my back. I let my head rest comfortably in the crook of his neck and I breathe in his scent. He places me down on the couch in his office and he brushes hair out of my face.

“You were amazing,” he says softly, and he kisses my forehead once more. It’s much more prolonged this time. It’s like he can’t bear to pull his lips away from my skin. Afterwards, he rests his head against mine and he runs a hand through my hair.

“Here,” he says, guiding a glass of water to my hands. “You’re dehydrated. Drink.”

I sip slowly. The liquid cools my throat and brings me back to my senses. I look at him for the first time without a glassed-over haze blocking my vision, and he smiles. He must sense that I’m back in the room.

“Hey, there’s my girl.”

I smile warmly at him and brush my hair out of my face. He sits on the other end of the sofa, glass of whiskey in hand, in just his boxers. This is fucking bliss.

“How was it?” he asks, like he genuinely cares.

“Great,” I croak. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “Amazing.”

“How do you feel now?”

I check in with myself for a moment before I answer. “Achey,” I tell him. “A little sore.”

“You really were incredible, you know?” he takes a sip of his whiskey.

I drink my water. “Thank you,” I say. “So were you. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He runs his hand over the cloth that covers my leg. “Always,” comes his reply.

I glance up at the clock. It’s only seven thirty. We still have plenty of time together.

“Do you want to shower?” he asks.

I nod. I would love to shower. “I mean... yeah, but... churches don’t have showers... do they?”

He shakes his head. “My house is on the grounds, dumbass. And believe it or not, my house has a shower.”

“Fuck you,” I smile.

His ‘house’ is actually a very quaint, one-bedroom cottage that is just behind the church, and out of view of the car park because of the trees that shelter it. That explains why I was unaware of its existence up until now. He carries me there in the bedsheet. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

In the shower, I cry again. I cry and cry and cry until my body has no tears left. I tell myself I’m crying because of the pain, or because I’m simply overwhelmed, but I’m not. I’m crying because I have never been in love before, and I think this is the beginning of the slipperiest of slopes. And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. I decide, in that moment, that I never want to go home again. Father is my home now. Wherever he goes, I go. And wherever he is, I shall be too.


	6. The Missing Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! So this one is suuuuuper soft, you guys. I may or may not have teared up when writing it. I hope you all love it as much as I do. Thank you for your support, as always. Lots of love.

 

When I emerge from the shower, I grab a towel from the rail and dry myself off and I pick up the little piece of paper lying on top of a folded t-shirt atop the toilet seat.

 

“For you. B.”

 

The B throws me off. Confused, and still a little dazed, I pull the t-shirt over my head and oh God, it smells just like him. I roughly comb my wet hair with my fingers and looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I really don’t want to go back out there and face him with wet hair and all of my make-up washed off. Now that we’ve done what I clearly came here to do, I feel so small. That vodka orange from earlier is well and truly out of my system. I want to just go home and sleep.

I can’t stay in here forever. I don’t want to worry him. So, I head out of the bathroom and back into his living room and find him sat on the couch in a sweater and joggers. He smiles that warm smile at me and suddenly, my worries don’t seem to matter anymore. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay right here.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine concern lacing his tone.

I smile and nod. “I’m good.”

I sit in an armchair opposite his seat and cross my legs beneath me. He has the fire going and it’s covering the entire room in a soft, orange hue. I so badly want to kiss him.

It’s like he can read my mind, because he beckons me over. “Come here,” he says gently. “Come sit on my lap.”

I don’t hesitate. I’m tired and frightened and sad - and I’m in desperate need of his comfort right now. I clamber into his lap like a child and he begins to stroke my hair softly. “Do you regret it?” he asks me.

I think hard about that question. Do I regret it? I certainly thought I did fifteen minutes ago in the shower, but I think back to how it felt when he was actually screwing me, how good it felt to have him so close, and I think about how safe I feel right now, in his arms, with his fingers carding themselves through my hair and the answer becomes so clear to me.

“Not one bit,” I say.

His lips flicker into a smile for just a moment and then he continues looking at me like he’s devoted to me. Like he’s forgotten that God even exists.

“Doesn’t this make you feel awful?” I ask him.

His eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, baby?”

“I mean... you devote your life to God. You’re meant to be in a sacred bond with him and only him.”

He sighs. “It’s complicated,” he tells me. I wish he would just explain. I’m a big girl - I’m sure I could understand. “My relationship with the church isn’t all it appears to be.”

“Then explain to me,” I ask him. I begin to run my hand through his hair now. He closes his eyes and keens into the touch like a cat.

“Another time, maybe,” he sighs.

I leave it at that. I don’t want us to fight. I can’t imagine ever fighting with him.

“Can I ask you something else?” I say. He hums in response and opens his eyes. “What did that ‘B’ mean on the note you left in the bathroom?”

“It’s my first initial,” he answers plainly.

I smile. How have we done all that we have done, and it is only just occurring to me that I don’t know his first name? I suppose I never thought to ask. He was always just Father. Or, well... that other name. It feels dirty even to think it.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Guess.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m too tired to play games,” I pout, continuing to stroke his hair. He has one of his hands on my upper thigh, his thumb moving back and forth across my skin. His other hand twirls pieces of my hair around his finger absentmindedly. “Just tell me.”

“Brendon,” he says. I test its weight in my head. Brendon. It does suit him. It wasn’t what I was expecting. Benjamin, perhaps, or Brent or Brad. But I like it. I really like it.

“Am I allowed to call you by your name?” I ask a little uncertainly.

He laughs a little. “Of course, sweetie. I’d like you to. I’ll tell you if I’m in the mood for you to call me otherwise.”

I laugh too. He makes me so unbelievably happy. I want to stay here in his cottage forever. I want to sleep beside him and wake up with him in the morning. I want to eat breakfast with him. I want us to do absolutely everything together.

“Brendon,” I whisper his name aloud for the first time and it feels so foreign on my tongue, but at the same time like it’s the only name I ever want upon my life so long as I live. “Brendon, I’m scared,” I admit.

His face hardens a little. I don’t think it’s anger. It’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on. “Why?” he asks. “Talk to me, darling.”

“I’m scared of what this is going to become,” I murmur softly, unable to take my eyes away from his. When I’m nervous, I usually avoid eye contact, but with him, it’s like I can’t look away even for a second, like his eyes help me through whatever I’m struggling to express.

“I know,” he sighs. “I know. But I don’t want you to be afraid. This will always be our secret, okay? Nobody will ever know. I’ll make sure of it.”

I’m not sure that I want it to always be ‘our secret’. I think of everything we’d miss out on if it was. Holding hands in public ranks high at the top of my mental list. I want to cry again. “How old are you?” I ask him.

“Twenty six,” he answers. He looks older. Maybe that’s because he seems more mature. “Hey,” he says when my head dips. He places two fingers beneath my chin to lift it up to look at him again. “Hey, sweetie. It’s okay. I promise you, nobody will know. I won’t let anybody hurt you, okay?”

I nod. I believe him, I really do. The urge to kiss him is stronger than ever. I wonder if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, he’ll lean forward and connect his lips to my own. I need it more than anything.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he tells me. One of his hands cups the side of my face. “The moment I laid eyes on you a few weeks ago, I... I’d never seen a girl so... breathtaking.”

If I was hearing this kind of shit from anybody else, I’d be feeling quite sick, but there’s a genuine softness in his voice and the way that he looks at me is so unparalleled that I know that he means every word that he says. 

“Please,” I say gently.

“Please what?”

“You know what.”

I know that he knows. We’re on another level of human connection - it borderlines on spiritual. His eyes flicker down to my lips and he licks his own. When he moves forward and closes the gap between us, I sigh, and then he’s kissing me so gently that I feel like my heart is going to burst.

He doesn’t try to inject any heat into it. He keeps it soft and meaningful and when he pulls away, he laughs lightheartedly and says, “I can’t believe I just got to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world.”

I giggle and bury my face in my hands. “Shut the fuck up,” I tell him. “You keep saying sappy shit like that then I’m outta here.”

“Okay,” he beams. “Alright. I’m sorry. Can I kiss you again, though?”

I nod, and he does, and we’re both smiling into it and I can’t remember a time in my life when I have ever been as happy as I am right now.

“It’s getting late,” he sighs, glancing at the clock on the wall. I look too. It’s quarter past nine.

“It is,” I agree. “But I can’t go home with damp hair,” I laugh. “How on Earth would I explain that one?”

He hums. “There’s a hairdryer in the bathroom,” he tells me. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, I get out of his lap and go to dry my hair and whilst the noise of the hairdryer is covering me, I let out a high-pitched squeal of pure unutterable joy. I just had my first kiss with one of the most beautiful men on the planet. I’m fucking untouchable right now.

Back in the living room, Brendon holds out my dress for me. “Milady,” he bows.

I scoff as I take it from him and strip there in the living room, getting dressed back into my own clothes. I hand him his t-shirt.

“Uh uh,” Brendon says. “Keep it.”

I’m not going to refuse an offer like that. I fold it up neatly and place it in my little bag.

He wraps his arms around my waist and looks down at me. I sigh heavily. “I don’t wanna go,” I tell him.

“I know. I don’t want you to, either. You free tomorrow night?” he asks.

“To do some more filing for you?” I quip with a smirk.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Anything for you, B.”

He kisses me chastely and then we head out to his car. The entire way home, he holds my hand and I feel like I’m walking on cloud nine. When he pulls up to my house, I so desperately want to kiss him, but then glance to the front window of my living room and see both my parents waving to him. This sucks.

“Tell them about tomorrow. I’ll see you at the same time.”

I nod and give his hand one last squeeze, seeing as that’s out of the view of my parents, and I don’t take my eyes off his car until it’s completely out of sight.

My parents want to know all about my night the second I step in the door.

“It was good,” I shrug. “He wants to see me again tomorrow. We got halfway through some papers and he needs them finished as soon as possible.”

“Well, I can’t see that being a problem,” Mom smiles. “Do you want anything to eat, honey?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m exhausted. I’m just gonna head to bed, I think.”

She lets me go without fuss. We say goodnight and I head ip to my room.

Lying there later that evening, I’m on the brink of sleep when my phone illuminates my nightstand.

 

“Thank you for the best night I’ve had in a very long time. God, I can’t wait to fucking see you again. Goodnight, darlin. Sweet dreams.

 

B.”

 


	7. High As Kites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Damn, I’m really spoiling you guys, aren’t I? Hope you like this one. It’s very different and it’s got everything! Smut, a little fluff and a hell ogpf a lot of angst. It’s a wild ride, you guys. Buckle up and enjoy!

 

The next week is one of the most exhausting weeks of my life. I spend most evenings at church with Father Urie, and my parents are none the wiser. After I’ve seen him three nights in a row, in a post-orgasm haze, through panting breaths, he says to me, “we’ve gotta take a break, doll.” I agree. This is fucking amazing, but I seriously think that he could break me if we don’t pace ourselves.

We fuck everywhere, too. On the altar again, and in the vestry, and even on the piano. That was a personal favourite of mine. We spend our time afterwards together much like we did on that first night, and with every kiss he gives me, I find myself falling deeper and deeper into a hole that I know it will be impossible to get out of. The word ‘love’ is buried somewhere at the back of my mind, and I refuse to bring it forward. The possibility of ever telling him aloud and having him refuse to say it back is unbearable. Besides, I’m not even sure if that’s what it is. It could just be some teenage infatuation. Aren’t all teens like this when they first start having sex? They go at it like rabbits, so I’ve heard. I’m not different to any other horny teenage girl. This is ridiculous.

The night before school starts, I’m desperate to see him. We’ve made no arrangements but I figure by this point, he won’t really mind if I just casually drop by. Our meetings aren’t exactly boring. My parents are reluctant to take me to church. “You need your rest,” my mom says, but I insist I’m fine, so Mom drops me off like she usually does, and when I don’t find Father in church, I rush out the back to his cottage.

The moment I open the door, I’m hit with a distinctive smell that I know all too well from my old high school. I walk through to the living room and find him sat on the couch, smoke billowing from his slightly parted lips. I chew my lip slowly. When he sees me, he stands.

“Baby,” he drawls slowly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“What are you doing?” I ask confusedly. Am I angry at him for this? I don’t think I am. But I sure as hell didn’t expect it, and it’s thrown me completely off guard. I feel like I don’t know him, not this man stood in front of me now, high as a kite. “I should go,” I add quietly, although my feet don’t want to seem to move. My head is telling me to leave, but my heart is crying stay, stay, stay.

“Darlin,” he sighs, moving towards me. “Please don’t go. You came all this way. Sit down. I’m not that high.”

He takes me by the hand and leads me over to the couch. This all feels so wrong. I’m probably about to get high with my priest, who also happens to be the guy I’m fucking on an almost daily basis. Wow. What a great autobiography I could write some day.

“You’ve never smoked before, have you?” he smirks. I roll my eyes at him. “I can tell. But it intrigues you, doesn’t it?”

“Are you even allowed to do this?” I say with an edge of malice to my tone. “You’re a priest, Brendon.”

“I’m not allowed to fuck pretty little girls either, but I’m still doing that, aren’t I? And I don’t see you having any objections there.”

“I don’t have any objections,” I say honestly, “it’s just not what I expected to walk into when I got here. And I have got high before. Once.”

He reaches for the blunt balanced precariously on the ashtray and lifts it to his lips. I watch him do so. I watch his eyes flutter closed as he takes a drag and then part his lips delicately to blow clouds of smoke from them. It’s such a turn on. I wish it wasn’t.

He holds the blunt out to me and I bite my tongue. My first day of Senior Year is tomorrow. I really, really shouldn’t doing this. But I take it, and I bring it to my own lips and take a small drag, inhaling. I exhale with control. I don’t think he was expecting me to so good at it.

“No shit,” he laughs. “You have done this before, huh?”

“I’m not a fucking liar, Brendon,” I say snappily. I whine as he fiercely grabs my thigh, but with his slowed reflexes and responses, he isn’t gripping as tightly as he normally would.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he sighs, and he brings his lips to my ear to whisper, “Daddy doesn’t like it.”

“You are the worst influence, you know that?” I tell him.

I watch the smirk form on his face. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, darlin.”

He lifts the blunt to his mouth again but I take it out of his hand before he can have another puff. “Make yourself another,” I say. “This one’s mine now.”

I can tell from the look in his stoned eyes that he likes it. He likes this little power exchange. It could be the start of something quite beautiful.

Half an hour in, and I’m too high to even think about the consequences of tomorrow. Somehow, I’m in just my underwear and one of Brendon’s work shirts, unbuttoned. It’s an expensive fucking cotton and it falls off of one of my shoulders as I dance around the room to the records he has playing. He’s watching me from the couch, biting his bottom lip, a hand placed across his groin.

“You’re fucking mesmerising,” he compliments me. I know that already.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, darlin,” I echo his words and he laughs.

“Get over here,” he says gruffly, “Come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

I do as I’m told, sitting on his lap facing him with one of my legs either side of his waist. I wrap my arms around his neck as he begins to kiss my own. I start to giggle, and so does he.

“You’re so fucking cute, doll,” he mutters. I start to card my hands through his hair that doesn’t really feel like his hair. I feel so distant from my own body, but when he starts to suck on my neck, it breaks me straight back. I moan, and grind down onto his lap subconsciously.

“You like that?” Brendon says.

“Uh huh,” I sigh.

He kisses my collarbones and begins to roam his hands over my body. He cups my boobs and reaches around to my back to unclip my bra. The piece of fabric falls slack and he rolls it down my arms, dangling it in the air for a few moments before dropping it over the edge of the sofa.

“Kiss me, Daddy,” I murmur, and I’m grateful that he does as I ask immediately. He pushes his tongue forcefully into my mouth. I can feel his dick starting to harden beneath me. In turn, I start to get wet.

We kiss for what feels like days and until my head is absolutely spinning from a combination of the weed and the lack of air. I pull away and gasp. Taking a hold of his hand, I guide it down to my underwear.

“Somebody’s an eager little slut tonight, aren’t they?” he says, voice deep with lust. He wastes no time in roughly shoving his hand down the front of my panties, pushing a finger into me before starting to make out with me once again. I moan into his mouth when he adds a second digit.

Now that we’re doing this high, I never want to go back to doing it sober ever again. Everything feels so heightened and magical. I pull away from him completely and stand up and he pouts like a sad puppy. “Baby girl?” he questions. “What’s going on?”

I smirk at him as I take off my panties and then proceed to remove his trousers and briefs. Climbing back onto his lap, I align his cock with my entrance. One of the perks of fucking so regularly is that the prep I need is minimal.

“Oh fuck, darlin,” he groans as I slide down onto his dick and begin to ride him. The room is so hot and smoky that we’re both dripping with sweat. I begin to kiss his neck as I fuck down onto him to return the favour. When I suck on his neck, he makes a noise caught somewhere in between a laugh and a moan.

“You’re such a little freak,” he spits out. That makes me smile. A little freak. I could be on board with that. He feels so good inside of me. I fuck him nice and slow, sighing deeply. I’m still so fucking high. My fingertips feel like they’re tingling as they touch his skin.

“I don’t deserve this,” he sighs. “I don’t deserve you. You’re my little princess, aren’t ya?”

I look him in the eyes. His pupils are blown wide. “You do deserve me, Daddy,” I whisper, pressing our foreheads together. “Fuck, I wanna come.”

He runs his hands over my back. My hair cascades down it. “You gonna come for Daddy, sweetie?” he drawls. “Come with Daddy’s cock inside of you.”

I speed up my movements a little, riding his dick like my fucking life depends on it. I start to whimper and my hips stutter. “Oh Daddy... fuck, I’m coming.”

He pushes his hips up into me with a grunt as I come, taking over as I become unable to put in the work. He barely gives me time to get over it before he’s lifting me up, so that he can pull out.

“On the floor,” he instructs. “Suck my dick til I come.”

I get down on my knees and take his cock into my mouth with no hesitation. I look up at him with innocent eyes, opening my mouth and pressing the tip of his dick against my tongue, just to drive him wild. He moans loudly.

I keep sucking him off until he comes, stuttering my name and shooting his load down the back of my throat.

And then, when we’ve both come down from the clouds, I head to the bathroom to splash my face with water and realise that on my comedown, I’m going to have to go home to my parents still high.

“What the fuck am I gonna do?” I shout as I pace around his living room.

“Babe, will you chill out?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just... tell ‘em you never came to church. Tell them that was a cover so you could go get high with some friends.”

“I’m brand fucking new to this town,” I explode at him. “I don’t have any friends!”

“Jesus Christ!” he shouts, standing up. “Are you pinning this all on me or something? I didn’t force you to smoke. Hell! I didn’t even invite you around tonight. You just showed up of your own accord!”

I glare at him. God, I could sucker punch him right now if my arms didn’t feel like jelly. I start hastily pulling my clothes back on. “I’m going home,” I insist.

He sighs heavily and starts getting dressed too.

“No!” I insist. “I’ll walk.”

“Baby,” he says patronisingly. “It’s an hour’s walk to your house and it’s almost dark out and you’re stoned. I’m driving you home.”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me,” I spit. I know he’s not going to let me walk. I hate how much he cares. Why couldn’t I just be his little fuck toy and be done with it? Why did there have to be feelings involved?

I march to his car furiously. It’s already 9:45. I start rifling through his front compartments as soon as I’m sat down.

“What the fuck are you looking for?” he asks when he joins me.

“I don’t know, an aerosol or something - anything that’s gonna make the smell of this weed less noticeable.”

He reaches down by his car door and chucks a glass bottle of cologne lightly to me. Oh yeah, because this is really appropriate. But it’s my best hope. I spritz it on. “Can you just fucking drive please?” I demand.

The journey back is silent. That’s never happened before, apart from that first time when he drove me home and I fell asleep. I want to burst into tears.

“Drop me off here,” I say quickly before he turns onto my street. “My parents can’t see your car if I have to make up some bullshit story to save your ass.”

He slams his hand aggressively onto the steering wheel and I jump. He looks furious. “Listen, sweetheart, my ass doesn’t need saving by anybody, least of all you. You think you’re doing me a favour here? You’re doing this to save yourself. Now go in there and explain what you’ve been up to like a good little girl and keep my name out of it. For your own sake. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

I do as he tells me and he speeds off less than a millisecond after I’ve closed the door behind me. After that, I’m so fucking tempted to tell Mom and Dad everything. I want to ruin him. I hate him so much.

I don’t, of course. The moment I step inside and Mom sees my eyes and Dad smells the weed, it’s over for me. I explain I’d met up with some people I’d become friends with over social media and we all got high together. I’d never gone to church, I tell them, choking up as I force out that lie. There’s lots of tears. I’m sent to my room in disgrace. Seething with rage, I grab my phone before I get into bed and I text him.

 

“Fuck you. Fuck you for making me get high with you and fuck you for screwing me and fuck you for treating me like I’m someone you actually want. Fuck you for making me feel like I’m special and fuck you for giving me all of these shitty feelings, because I really fucking like you and it’s all your fault. Fuck you, Brendon. Fuck fuck FUCK YOU.”

 

I switch my phone off and shut it in my bedside table drawer and then I strip, turn off the lights, climb into bed and cry and cry and cry until I eventually fall asleep.

 


	8. God Is A Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! Here we go again. So... I was having a little bit of a block. After the events of the previous chapter, I really didn’t know how to move past it, but then this idea came to me and well, this chapter is short and sweet but it’s one if my favourites because it’s an idea that I’ve had since this fic was just a little seed in my creative brain. There’s just something so hot about confessional booths. I’ll leave it at that. 
> 
> Oh, and also, this chapter pays a little homage to the true queen, Miss Ariana Grande, hence the title. I heard God is a woman for the first time today, seeing as today was the day it came out, and let’s just say that it’s this ship’s motherfucking anthem. If you haven’t heard, what are you doing? Listening whilst reading this chapter is something I would 10/10 recommend.
> 
> Okay, I’ll leave it at that. Enjoy! And thank you for all of your lovely comments and support so far.

My first day of Senior Year is clouded with unimaginable sadness and a splitting headache.I’m assigned a ‘buddy’ to help me find my classes and be someone to sit with at lunch. Her name is Lily, and I’m afraid that I don’t make a very good impression. It’s a school just like any other. Nothing ever changes. At 3:30 p.m., I get home and binge watch trash TV and eat an entire bag of Doritos. I do everything I can to stop myself from texting him. I’m not really surprised that he didn’t reply to me. How does one to reply to such a thing? Now that I’m rested and sober, I realise that he was right - he didn’t force me to smoke with him. He’d never invited me round. I have no right to be mad at him for my own decisions.

I want to hug him so much. I don’t want us to fight ever again. I’m so scared that I’ve royally fucked things up between us for good and that makes me want to scream. How could I have been so stupid?

His contact stares up at me from my phone screen - what started as ‘Father Urie’ and then got changed to ‘B’ with a pink love-heart emoji. Am I in too deep? Am I treating this as more than it is? I just want to talk to him. Every minute that ticks by is another minute that he’s probably spending loathing me. I need to put things right. I tug on some sneakers, grab my phone and my keys and set off to church on foot.

It’s late afternoon by the time I get there, and the sun is still beating down hard upon the ground and my back. Pounding my hand against the locked church door, when I get no response after a minute, I try again.

“Father!” I shout. “It’s me! Please. Can we just... talk?”

I hear footsteps from within and my breathing begins to increase in pace. The door creaks open and there he stands. I stare into his eyes for what feels like eternity and fuck, I’ve missed them.

“Have you come to repent?” he says monotonously.

My eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

“Have you come to repent for your sins?”

I gulp. “Uh... yeah,” I say. “Yes. I have.”

He opens the door completely and steps aside so that I can enter the church.

This is the first time that coming into chapel has felt like a spiritual awakening. I feel dirty and sinful, and like I truly need to be cleansed. Father doesn’t look at me, but he keeps walking. I follow him with my arms folded across my chest. “Father?” I question, but he doesn’t respond. All I can do is follow his lead, and trust him, wholeheartedly, as if that’s hard to do.

He leads me to the confessional and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. Shit, I think. He isn’t playing.

He walks around to his side of the booth and I step into mine. I sit, and I breathe, and I wait. When all is silent and I can hear him breathing on the other side, in a clear voice, I say, “forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“Confess your sins, my child,” he responds. His voice sounds absolutely nothing like his own.

“I’ve been disobedient and hot-tempered,” I murmur gently. “I have wrongly accused those who were trying to guide me, not lead me astray. I’ve... I’ve pushed away somebody who I really love,” I sigh, “and I’m seeking their forgiveness.”

“You... love them?” he says, and now he sounds like my Brendon.

“I do, Father,” I reply with confidence. “I love them very much. And I don’t want them to be mad at me anymore. I wish I knew what to do.”

“My child,” he says softly, “your sins are not as evil as you believe them to be. The damage done is very easily reparable. I do not believe that you are blamed for your behaviour. You acted from a place of fear and distress. The Lord forgives that.”

I pause for a minute. I can still hear him breathing. “Is there anything I can do, Father? To repent for my sins.”

“Yes,” comes a deep voice. “Yes, I believe there is something.”

The tension in the air is palpable. My vision is only speckled with a few spots of light and the scent of incense is permeable in the air.

“Tell me,” I urge desperately. “What can I do?”

This time, he pauses, and I wait upon his answer with baited breath.

“You can start by kissing your own fingertips,” he whispers. “One by one. Do that for me now.”

The request is... odd, but I comply nonetheless. I close my eyes and bring each of my fingertips up to my mouth, kissing them all individually.

“Once you have done that,” Father says, “take your hand and place it upon your inner thigh. I suck in a deep breath. Fuck, I think. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Alright,” I tell him. “My hand is there.”

“Do you know what I’m going to ask you to do, my child?” he asks of me.

“I think so,” I reply.

“And is that okay with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Slide your hand up a little closer,” he breathes. I do as I’m told. I know better by now than to disobey him.

I slide my fingertips delicately over my underwear and I sigh. “Is this a punishment?” I ask him.

“This is repentance,” he says.

He gives me further commands. He makes me touch myself for him. To this day. I still don’t understand how he has such a deeply profound effect upon me. In this moment, he could ask me to kill a man and I would. I’d do absolutely anything for him. I understand now that this is what love is.

“Father...” I gasp whilst I have one finger pressed inside of myself, “can I ask you a question?”

“Go on, my child,” he says.

“Are you touching yourself too?”

There’s a long pause, and my breathy gasps and moans fill the void of silence.

“Yes,” he finally answers. “Yes, I am.”

I picture him, on the other side of this partition, cock in hand, jerking himself off slowly, riled up by the sounds of my moans.

“Are you hard?” I ask.

Through a choked breath, he says, “yes. I’m so fucking hard.”

I push a second finger inside of myself. He’s got me feeling so unbelievably high and he’s not even touching me. I can’t even fucking see him.

“I’m so close just imagining you touching yourself like that,” he tells me. “Fuck, do you do this when I’m not around? Am I who you think about in bed? When you’re lonely in the night...”

I whimper. His words are pushing me closer and closer towards the edge. I rub my clit furiously. “Yes,” I admit to him. “Sometimes I just can’t... help myself...” I cry out. “Oh fuck, I’m so close,” I warn him.

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he coos. “God, this is so hot. This is... I can’t...”

I understand that feeling of speechlessness all too well. I never really believed that I made him feel the same way, though.

“Daddy...” I whisper, because I know that will push him over the edge, “can we come together?”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Yes. Please, baby. Come with me.”

“N-now?”

“Now.”

We hit our climaxes together, and we get off on the sound of one another moaning and whining and the pure knowledge that we’re both coming. This is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Our breaths are all that can be heard for a long time. Long, heavy, panted breaths. I feel like I can’t move, so I’m grateful when I feel comforting, strong arms lift me out of the confessional booth. He sits ups both down on the church floor, right before the altar. It’s that time of evening when the sun streams in through the stained-glass windows and we sit here, tangled up in one another’s bodies, foreheads pressed together, bathed in light.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper to him.

“Shouldn’t have done what?”

“That. In the confessional. Do you have no shame?”

“Shame? Darling, I don’t understand...” he questions. He pulls away slightly so he can look into my eyes.

“That was one of the holiest of places. As if the altar wasn’t bad enough...”

“Stop,” he says abruptly. “Don’t you understand? I worship you. You’re my fucking religion.”

“You can’t say that,” I whisper.

“I can,” he counters, “and I just did.”

He takes my breath away when he kisses me. Normal service has resumed, and my heart doesn’t feel heavy anymore. I know now, that no matter what, he is mine, and I am his. We are always going to find our way back to one another.

I feel warmth all over my body. I feel his lips all over my body. I have never, ever felt as spiritual as I do in this exact moment. When he touches me, I believe in things beyond our universe. I believe in the impossible. And I know, from the way that he is touching me, that he does too.

“God...” he breathes when our lips part, “is a woman. And that woman is you.”

 


	9. Lay Us Down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won’t lie to you, this is my favourite chapter so far. I knew I wanted to make this a real turning point in the fic - it’s time for me to begin taking this in the direction that I’ve had planned since the start. So yes, this is a very emotional, very beautiful chapter and writing it made me very happy.
> 
> I stuck The End of All Things on repeat and I just wrote. If you’re someone who listens to music when reading, consider listening to that as you read this chapter. It’ll enhance your experience, I promise. 
> 
> OH! And, I had aimed to keep the narrator nameless throughout, but the deeper into this fic I got, the more I realised that was going to be too difficult. So her name is revealed in this chapter! Exciting stuff, huh?
> 
> All my love, as always. I hope you enjoy.

 

I’ve reached the stage now where I dream of him almost every single night. When I wake up and get ready for school every morning, my heart aches simply from missing him. It does make school easier in some ways, though. I don’t get distracted by the mediocre boys in my classes the ways that I used to back as a Junior. I get asked to Homecoming by quite a few, all eager to impress the new girl I suppose, and rejecting them has never felt so satisfying. When I’m asked why, I tell them that my religion doesn’t agree with school dances. I don’t tell them that my religion is a person, and that secretly, I do want them to take me as their date to Homecoming, if only to see what his reaction would be.

I keep to myself, for the most part. I’m not here to make friends. There’s no point, anyway. All high-school friendships are futile, and they would just become people whose texts I felt obliged to reply to, and people who would take my time and attention away from more important matters.

I don’t feel lonely. I couldn’t be possibly feel lonely when I have Brendon in my life. I desperately wish we could text more often, but we’re both cautious of my parents somehow finding out. This whole ‘sneaking around’ business is undeniably exciting and it does keep things fresh, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t becoming tiresome.

With long school days and homework to finish and early nights, I’m lucky if I get to see him twice a week now, save for church on Sundays. And when I do see him, I’m too exhausted to fuck. He says that doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t want to see me only to have sex with me. “Believe it or not, I actually enjoy spending time with you,” he admits, and he rolls his eyes when I laugh.

I’ve got a stack of homework that needs finishing, but Brendon had text me begging me to come over, because he couldn’t spend one more evening without me, and well, how could I refuse?

“I was serious when I said I had work to do,” I tell him, dropping my books down onto his bed. Being in his bed isn’t anything new, really. We’ve fucked in here a couple of times now. But just sitting here, wearing his sweatshirt that smells of him, with a messy bun atop my head, and him with his glasses on and a little scruff from a few days without shaving, is certainly very new. It’s ridiculously domestic, and I’m not sure that Brendon and I know how to do domestic yet.

“Let me help you then,” he offers, and he tugs me in between his legs like he did after that very first time in his office, when he braided my hair. I’m much more comfortable with it now, and able to relax easily into his body. Delicately, he kisses my temple.

“Ever read The Great Gatsby?” I ask him, opening to the chapter we’re currently analysing.

“Um, who hasn’t?” he says, sounding incredibly offended that I would even ask him such a thing.

“Okay, so do you wanna help me analyse this part?” I hand him the book and relax my head back onto his shoulder.

“Sure,” he replies. “But I haven’t read it in a while. I need a refresh.”

“Read it to me,” I murmur. I take a hold of his index finger and guide it slowly across the page. “Start... here.”

He begins to read softly to me. “He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them,” he begins, “one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray.”

I close my eyes and listen to him as he continues. At some point, without my noticing, he tangles his hand with my own, and our fingers interlock.

“He brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.”

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” I whisper from memory, in time with his voice. He stops, and listens to me. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such... such beautiful shirts before.”

He closes the book and he sits us both upright. He turns his body so he can look into my eyes. Gently, he cups my cheeks. His face is awash with concern. I don’t know when I started crying myself.

“Gracie, darling,” he whispers. “What is it?”

I shake my head. I don’t know what it is. I wish that I did. “You know how that story ends, don’t you?” I ask him.

He gulps. “My love, if you’re implying that-”

“I’m not implying anything,” I cut him off. “I just... want you to be aware, that’s all.”

“I’m aware,” he murmurs softly beneath his breath, and he brings his lips to mine. I kiss him with the force of a hurricane. I’ve never been so fucking afraid of losing someone.

Once we pull apart, he envelopes me in his arms and just holds me for a while. I haven’t been held by anyone in so long. I didn’t realise how much I needed it. I begin to sob into his chest, and he hugs me even tighter to his chest, like he’s afraid that I’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Please,” he begs, “please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

If anything, hearing his words of reassurance make me cry harder. How can he make empty promises so easily? Nothing about this is certain. We’ve been skating on the thinnest ice ever since we began. We have no stability here, no safety net - in this depressingly fragile limbo.

Pulling out of his grasp, I look deep into his eyes. He stares at me like he’s looking through to my soul. I think he knows me better than I know myself. “Am I yours?” I ask him.

Without hesitation, he says: “yes.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “am I-”

“Yes.”

He runs his fingertips gently along my arm until his hand reaches mine, and he takes it again. We both watch as our hands lock together perfectly, with no fumbling awkwardness. It’s like a perfectly choreographed routine that has been committed to muscle memory. From the very beginning, our relationship has required absolutely no rehearsal.

“It’s not going to be like this forever, is it?” I ask him. “You know... a secret?”

When he doesn’t answer, I squeeze his hand, and I force him to look at me by gently turning his head with my free hand.

“Gracie,” he murmurs sadly, “I don’t know. I hope not. But I can’t promise you anything.”

“You just promised me that everything’s going to be alright,” I remind me.

“I did,” Brendon answers, “and I mean that. But this thing that we have... it’s so complicated.”

Bravely, I gulp, and then admit to him, “now that I have you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go. You’re, like... a part of me now.”

He nods, and he leans forward to press his forehead to mine. He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. “I promise you, right now, that nobody will split us up unless one day, for some reason, we must do it ourselves.”

That makes my heart ache. I don’t want to think about ever living my life without him beside me, not exactly holding me up, but simply making me stronger.

“If my parents ever find out... or someone in the congregation...” I begin anxiously. He finishes my sentence for me.

“Then we run.”

He kicks my books off of the bed with one foot and lies down, pulling me down to lie beside him. We keep our foreheads pressed together and our eyes open and we stare into one another’s for what feels like eternity. In these moments, I learn more about him than I ever did when we were speaking. I can feel him inside of me, like some sort of missing piece that completes me. Truly, I think I finally understand the meaning of a soulmate.

“Brendon,” I whisper, piercing the silence.

He tightens his jaw and rests his hand upon my hip, tugging me in just that little bit closer. God, I think, I would fucking die for him.

“I love you,” I tell him. Those three words blaze like fire as they travel up from the pit of my stomach to my throat. I have never felt more certain of anything. He’s my everything. When he opens his mouth to speak, everything just falls right into place. I close my eyes when I hear him say it. I’ve never wanted to hear him say anything more than I want to hear him say this.

“I love you, too.”


	10. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Sorry that this one is quite short and sweet. I’m absolutely exhausted but I wanted to get something up for you before I go to sleep because you deserve it. 
> 
> I’m off work for the next two days though, so get ready for tons of updates (hopefully!)
> 
> As always, my heart goes out to every single person reading this fic. I love you all.

One morning over breakfast, my parents strike the match and light the fuse beneath the bomb, and the countdown begins. They phrase it in the nicest way possible and don’t sound accusatory, but the moment the words leave my mother’s mouth, my heart is in my throat.

“Honey, don’t you think you’re maybe spending a little too much time with Father Urie?”

I downplay my anxiety and laugh her off. “What?”

“Listen, I’m all for you being involved with the church, sweetheart, you know that, but...”

“But what?”

“What your mother is trying to say,” Dad interjects, “is that any moment you’re not at school, you’re at church with him. Didn’t you even take your homework with you the other day?”

“It was religious studies homework, Dad,” I lie. “I think Father Urie is kinda the most qualified person to ask about that.”

“He isn’t...” my mom winces before continuing, “hurting you, is he?”

“What?” I explode, standing up abruptly. “Mom, that’s fucking ridiculous!”

“Language, Grace,” Dad scolds.

“I can’t believe you would even suggest that!” I shout.

“Sweetie, there’s no need to get defensive,” my Mom reassures me.

“I’m not defensive - I’m mad!” I correct her. “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s teaching me a lot. And I want to feel closer to God. I thought this is what you wanted?”

“It is,” my mother pleads. “Darling, please sit down. Let’s talk about this.” If there’s one thing my mom hates more than arguing, it’s feeling like she started the argument.

“No,” I stand my ground. “No, you know what? Father Urie is teaching me so much about God and the church and if you have a problem with me educating myself on the religion, that by the way, you forced me into, then that’s on you.”

I shove my chair angrily and grab my schoolbag. Mom calls my name to try to stop me but I’m gone. Til the end of my street, I just walk, but as soon as I’m around the corner, I’m bolting to church, not caring when my breathing starts to become ragged or there’s a cramp in my side. I need to see him. Oh God, I need to see him.

When I eventually arrive, I slam the main doors of the church wide open and I’m about to run down the aisle when I skid myself to a halt. About fifty angry and confused looking faces on people clad entirely in black turn around to face me. At the altar stands Brendon, sermon book in hand, standing over a casket.

“Shit,” I mutter, and I turn around and rush out, closing the doors behind me.

Slumping down against the side of the building, I sit there in the grass regaining my breath. Who the fuck have I become? I’m playing truant, sat in a graveyard, and I just gatecrashed a funeral. Again, yet more evidence to support that I could write a fucking amazing autobiography one day.

The sun is ridiculously hot already, and it’s not even noon. I sit there with it beating down on my face and I close my eyes. The grass feels scratchy beneath my bare legs. If I try hard enough, I can forget about the funeral taking place mere metres from me, and I can also forget about the fact that I just ruined it.

When I hear the main doors creak open, I jump up suddenly and run around the corner, hiding like a little girl. I can hear people muttering about me as they leave the church and I press my eyes tight shut. God, Brendon is going to fucking hate me forever.

I wait until I’ve heard a decent amount of cars leave and presume that’s everybody, but I’m still too scared to peek my head out around the corner to check. When I hear a familiar sigh, I bite my tongue.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he says sarcastically.

Disgraced, I reveal myself, walking like a dog with his tail between his legs. “I’m so sorry, I-” I begin, but he closes his eyes and puts his hand up in the air to cut me off.

“Save it,” he says. “Get inside. Now.”

I feel like this is a trip to the Principal’s office. He makes me go ahead of him and follows me in. I stand by the font at the back of the church picking at the skin around my fingernails and biting my bottom lip.

“You have to understand, Grace, that this church, is my place of work, and you can’t just keep barging in here unannounced, lest something like that happens.”

I nod in understanding. “I know,” I say, “and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He looks me up and down with a confused gaze. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asks.

I can’t hold it in any longer. “They’re onto us,” I tell him. “My parents.”

I watch all the colour fade from his face and can’t help but feel like it’s all my fault. “What?” he asks.

“They didn’t outright accuse us of anything, but they think I’m spending too much time with you,” I explain to him. “And my mom asked if you...”

“If I what?”

“If you’d been... hurting me.”

His jaw clenches at the same time as his fists. “What did you say?”

“Well I got pissed, obviously!” I say incredulously. “I wasn’t gonna let her talk about you like that.

“You got mad?” he questions.

“Yeah, of course I did,” I answer him. “What else was I suppose to do?”

“Oh Lord,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Instantly I’m worrying that I’ve done something wrong. “This isn’t good.”

“What isn’t good?” I ask.

“You blowing up in her face, getting defensive... she’s going to think you’re hiding something. It’ll make her more suspicious,” he explains.

“Shit,” I whisper. “Shit, shit, shit. This is all my fault.”

“No,” he says, gripping my upper arms. “Gracie darling, look at me. She’s only a little worried. We can still throw her off our trail. We can fix this.”

I stare into his eyes and I believe him wholeheartedly. We can fix this, and we will. Nothing and nobody is going to take him away from me.

“Okay,” I nod, closing my eyes. “Alright. But... I want us to make a plan,” I tell him.

“A plan?” he asks me, eyebrows furrowing.

“If they suddenly find out,” I say, “or if someone else does, I want us to be prepared.”

“Darlin, nobody’s going to find out,” he coos. I know he’s trying to reassure me but it’s futile. I won’t be reassured until I know we’re prepared for every worst case scenario.

“You said that if anybody ever finds out, then we run. Did you mean that?”

He pauses, then says, “I meant every word.”

“Then please,” I beg, “let’s make a plan.”

We sit on the church floor and we talk through everything - we cover every possible base. I turn eighteen in two weeks, and we agree to keep everything on the utmost down-low until after then. If we flee after I become an adult, legally my parents can’t stop me. We just have to hold on til then.

We make a promise to say that we never did anything before I turned eighteen, even though we’re lying.

“I did want to wait,” Brendon admits. “I was going to try to. But things just didn’t work out that way.”

I don’t blame him. I don’t regret any decision I ever made with him. I don’t think I ever could. “If we go after my eighteenth, they really can’t touch us, can they”

He shakes his head. “You’ll be an adult,” he says. “You’ll be responsible for your own choices. So no, they can’t touch us.”

We agree that the best way forward is to each have a bag permanently packed with essentials; enough to get us by until we can find our feet. Talking about it all both frightens and excites me. “This is all really fucking dangerous, isn’t it?” I ask him.

Slowly, he nods. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

We think of everything. If we need to flea from a situation when we can’t directly communicate, we agree on verbal and non-verbal buzzwords. We arrange a rendezvous for if we get separated whilst trying to escape. It all sounds so dramatic, but it’s not. These are our lives now. I knew this was never going to be easy.

I take his hand and I hold it tight. “No matter what happens, it’s me and you against the fucking world, right?”

He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Against the world, darlin,” he echoes, and I know in that moment that I have never been more in love with him.

 

***

 

I’m glad my parents are the kind of people who you can argue with, but if you apologise, they instantly forget like it ever happened. They don’t bring up Father Urie again that evening, or for the rest of the week, and I don’t realise that with each day that goes by with no mention of him, my mother and father begin to trust not only him, but also me, less and less and less.


	11. Crucifix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you beautiful people! It’s update time! I get so excited every single time I post, because with every chapter, we’re drawing closer and closer to the shit hitting the fan and I can’t wait to see all of your reactions. 
> 
> As always, please drop me lots of lovely comments below and I will be sure to read them and reply to them when I can. They really do mean so much to me and inspire me to keep writing.
> 
> All my love,  
> Olivia

It’s only a matter of days until I turn nineteen, and whilst it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Brendon and I agree that it’s best if we don’t see one another save for church. We can’t risk any more suspicion on top of that which we have already accumulated. On really hard nights, when I’m missing him terribly, I’ll text him, and he’ll text me back, and we’ll plan not to text too much, for fear of creating incriminating evidence against us if my phone ever got into the wrong hands, but we just can’t help ourselves.

 

B: YOU CAN DELETE THEM, YOU KNOW?

 

G: DELETE WHAT?

 

B: THE TEXTS

 

G: POLICE CAN RECOVER DELETED TEXTS

 

B: JESUS, HOW MUCH CSI DO YOU WATCH?

 

G: SHUT UP

 

B: IT’S ALL GOING TO WORK OUT, GRACIE. YOU DO TRUST ME, DON’T YOU?

 

G: I TRUST YOU MORE THAN I’VE EVER TRUSTED ANYBODY ELSE IN MY LIFE

 

B: GOOD. I TRUST YOU TOO

 

G: YOU DO?

 

B: OF COURSE I DO

 

G: I MISS YOU... I WISH YOU WERE HERE

 

B: SOON, MY LOVE

 

G: SOON ISN’T SOON ENOUGH

 

 

I fall asleep with my phone in my hand. In the morning, I know I should delete the texts, but I can’t bring myself to. They’re something to glance at when my heart feels particularly heavy and when all our efforts to stay together seem hopeless. How sad to live in a world where words upon a screen can be one’s lifeline.

I decide that the best thing I can do is sit tight and wait. And behave myself. I apologise to my parents, tell them that they’re right, that the amount of time I’ve been spending my Father Urie has been border-lining on unhealthy, so I’ll stop. I’ll only spend Sundays with him from now on.

“You don’t have to cut him out of your life entirely, sweetie,” my mom says and I can tell I’ve made her feel bad when really, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Does that make me a bad person?

“No Mom, I know,” I smile sweetly. “I’ll just work for him on Sundays, and I’ll dedicate the week to school.”

“Well, great!” my mother says. “That’s great, because, well, your grades are starting to dip a little, and that day where you didn’t turn up for school at all... I know it was the day we had that fight, but playing truant isn’t like you, Gracie.”

“It was a moment of madness, Mom. I wasn’t in the right headspace. But I am now. Everything’s fine.”

She kisses my forehead and I sigh. I definitely feel bad about this, even if I shouldn’t.

Up in my bedroom, hidden in my wardrobe, is a duffel bag packed with all of my essentials. It sits there like an omen, or a warning of what is inevitable. Sat up in my room after school one evening, I stare at it and it’s the first time that I’ve felt truly afraid. Afraid of someone taking him away from me, afraid of running away... just afraid.

On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, I tell my parents I’m taking a walk to clear my head. I arrive to church at around seven, and I knock gently upon the door. When he answers, I rush into his arms, and he wraps his own around me, and he holds me and holds me. He doesn’t pull away first. He wants me to decide when I’m stable enough to stand without him.

When I eventually do pull away, I trudge over to the back pew and sit, slinging my legs over the back of the pew in front of me. Brendon comes and sits beside me. He casually slings one of his arms around my shoulders. “Talk to me,” he urges.

I ask the question that I think I’ve wanted to ask him since our very first time. “What am I to you?”

He pauses and when I look at him, I can see he’s thinking long and hard. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “What do you want to be?”

“I... I don’t know,” I murmur, picking at the skin around my fingernails. Brendon lays his hand on top of mine to stop me from doing it. “I mean... your girlfriend, I guess.”

Brendon nods. “Okay. I mean, that’s pretty much what we are, right?” he says. “We’re exclusive, and we’re in love.”

When he says that, I feel a shiver down my spine. I look up at him and smile. When he smiles back, I realise how completely right he is. We are utterly in love.

“Oh!” he exclaims suddenly, standing up. “I have something for you.”

I laugh nervously. “What?”

Excitedly, he begins running down the aisle. “Wait there!”

“Brendon, what are you-”

“Wait. There!”

I watch him rush out of the church and return a moment later, a little out of breath. “Here,” he says to me, and he hands me a long, thin jewellery box. I open it up and stare at a gorgeous silver crucifix on a chain.

“I know you’re not religious,” he begins, but I cut him off before he can say any more.

“It’s so beautiful,” I smile. “I love it. Will you put it on for me?”

Bashfully, he smiles. I’ve never seen him look so damn cute before. He takes the necklace out of the box and slips it around my neck. I feel my cheeks flush.

“There,” he whispers, and he presses a delicate kiss to his temple.

I get one-up on him by turning and grabbing his face and kissing him like I’ll never be able to kiss him again.

Before I know what’s happening, he’s got me in his arms and I have my legs around his waist and he’s carrying me through the church. I can’t stop attacking him with kisses. I kiss his cheeks and his nose and his jawline and his neck. He starts giggling. “Cut that shit out - it fucking tickles,” he complains.

“Deal with it, pretty boy.”

When he drops me down onto his bed, I tug him down by his shirt. I rip it open forcefully, buttons scattering everywhere. He begins kissing me again, and I kiss him back like it’s my native language. Our limbs tangle up until we become one being, and I don’t know where he ends and I begin. Clothes come off in a rushed, lustful haste. When we’re both naked, I tug him down on top of me and turn us around, so that I am lying atop him.

“Stop,” he whispers when I go into to kiss his neck again.

“Is everything alright?” I pant.

He nods. “Yeah. Everything’s... wonderful. I just can’t believe you’re mine,” he smiles. Reaching up, he tucks my hair behind my ear. “God, Gracie. You’re so beautiful.”

For the first time, I believe it. His words are gospel.

Eventually, we end up with me beneath him again, and I cup his face in my hands. “I don’t want us to fuck,” I murmur gently, and I giggle when he looks a little taken aback. That only adds to his confusion. “I want you to make love to me. Is that stupid?”

“Not stupid at all,” he breathes and he kisses me like I’m the only girl he wants to kiss for the rest of his life. “I’ll be gentle, cutie.”

When he pushes into me and begins to thrust slow and deep, pressing delicate kisses to my neck and collarbones and as he does, I think back to how this all started, and how far we’ve come since then, and how infatuated I was with him back then, but how much I love him now.

“Don’t stop,” I beg him.

“I never would.”

I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down further into me. My nails scratch all the way down his back hard enough to draw blood.

He winces.

I apologise.

“No, don’t. I liked it.”

I feel myself drawing closer and closer to the edge. I want to kiss him, so I do. I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until I feel like I’m drowning. I whine against his mouth and he moans into mine. When I come, I don’t say so, but I know that he knows by the way I bite onto his lower lip and the way my thighs quiver and I tighten around him. He follows closely behind, pulling out and coming across my stomach with a long, low groan.

He lies beside me and I curl into him, tangling our legs together. We’re both sweaty, panting messes, but I don’t care. I love him just the same.

“Happy birthday, darlin,” he whispers to me, and kisses me on the nose. I know this is the closest we’ll get. My parents will find it far too sketchy if I ask to see him tomorrow. Maybe next year will be different. Maybe we’ll both be somewhere new.

He drives me home and drops me off around the corner so I can still maintain the lie that I’ve been for a walk. He kisses me softly before I get out.

“Have a great day tomorrow, okay?” he says. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” I reply, and I get out of the car and blow him a kiss. He catches it in mid-air and presses it to his heart. Why am I so fucking obsessed with him?

I roll my eyes. “Drive away. Now,” I tell him.

“I love you!” he whispers, and I whisper it back. He zooms off down the road, revving the engine, and I watch him speed out of sight.

 


	12. A Fatal Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters less than three hours apart? What have I become?! No, this is what days off are for. And we’re so close to some juicy drama in this story, so I had to keep writing! 
> 
> I apologise that this is another shorter chapter, but I promise that the next one is going to be much, MUCH longer. All I can say is buckle up and hold on tight...
> 
> All my love,  
> Olivia
> 
> EDIT: So I’ve just been informed that only half of the chapter posted. So sorry to anybody who tried to read in the first twenty minutes or so that the chapter was up. this should be fixed now.

 

My birthday doesn’t entirely suck. Even though it’s a school day, my parents still wake me up with breakfast in bed and sing to me like they’ve done every year. It’s sort of a tradition. I don’t tell anybody at school. I don’t want it to become a thing. In the evening, Mom, Dad and I go to this little steakhouse about ten minutes away. It’s quaint, and the food’s good. I didn’t ask for presents. I said there was nothing I needed, and that money would be way more helpful. But seeing as it was my eighteenth, and it marked the start of my life as an adult, Mom was insistent on getting something special. So that evening, after we’ve got home from dinner, she presents a little box to me with a big smile on her face.

“Mom, I said I didn’t need anything,” I sigh.

“I know,” she says. “But it’s your eighteenth, honey, and we wanted to get you something special.”

Suddenly, the crucifix around my neck that’s hidden underneath my turtleneck starts to feel like it’s burning into my skin, like it’s branding me. I already have something special, I think to myself. Someone.

I open the box. Inside is a gorgeous little silver ring, with an opal sitting in the centre. It’s very pretty, and very me. As much as I would like to disbelieve it, my parents do know me very well.

“It’s lovely,” I say genuinely, slipping the ring onto the third finger of my left hand. I hug Mom, then Dad. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.”

That evening, whilst I’m getting ready for bed, it hits me that Brendon and I are untouchable now in the eyes of the law. I could run away with him tonight and my parents couldn’t do anything about it. Because whilst I still live under their room, I’m an adult now, and I’m capable of making decisions for myself. They might not always be the best decisions, but the whole point is that I make them for myself and learn from them if they’re not.

It gets to 10 p.m. and I’m lying in bed and I only just realise that I haven’t checked my phone all day. There’s the standard Facebook wall messages and a few texts from old friends and grandparents, and then there’s this:

 

B  (11 new iMessages)

 

I’m instantly smiling like an idiot as I read through them all.

 

 

07:15 AM

 

B: Hey, a little birdie just told me it’s someone’s birthday?

B: Oh. The birdie just told me that it’s YOU. It’s your birthday!

B: Well, happy birthday, my love. I wish I could see you today, but I’ll see you Sunday instead.

B: Last night was so wonderful, by the way. God, I’m so glad I’ve found you.

 

11:11 AM

 

B: I hope school is going well. Any awkward singing happened yet? I used to hate that.

B: “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to-” Yeah, we get it! Shut up!

 

21:42 PM

 

B: Hey. It’s me again.

B: Listen, I don’t get sappy very often. (Or do I?) But it’s the evening now and you’re on my mind.

B: Come to think of it, you’re always on my mind.

B: But seriously, I need you to know how grateful I am that you’re in my life. And how lucky I was that you came along at the perfect time. Gracie, I had a really shitty time growing up in terms of luckless love. There was this one person who broke my heart and then there was another person whose heart I broke. And neither experience was pleasant. And I’d do anything I could to turn back time and speak to either person again. I’m so fucking scared of screwing up what we have. I love you so much. I don’t think I’ve ever loved another human being as much as I love you. I want you to be my person forever.

B: Would that be cool with you?

 

I love him so much. I can’t ever imagine life without him now that he’s a part of it. Hastily, I text him back.

 

22:13 PM

 

G: I don’t think I’ve ever loved another human being as much as I love you, either. You make me so happy. When we’re together, you make me feel like nobody else in the world exists besides us two.

G: I don’t know what the future holds for us. I don’t know how hard it might become. But I do know that I’m sticking with you no matter what. I’m not letting anybody take you away from me.

G: Goodnight, B. I love you so much.

 

A few minutes later, my phone pings.

 

22:17 PM

 

B: Goodnight, angel girl. God, you’re so fucking wonderful.

 

I fall asleep with the biggest smile on my face with the knowledge that I have a man who loves me just as much as I love him.

 

***

 

The following morning, I’m in the best mood. I decide that I should repay my parents for the day before by making them breakfast. My mom comes downstairs with messy hair and a bathrobe on, and a big smile on her face.

“Oh, look at you,” she beams. “I don’t deserve you, do I?”

“Mom, it’s just breakfast.”

She kisses my head and takes her plate of bacon, eggs and toast to the table. “You seem in a good mood,” she observes.

“I am,” I tell her, making myself up a plate.

“Any particular reason?” she asks, trying to be subtle by avoiding eye contact and pretending to be interested in the newspaper.

“No reason,” I tell her as I send a quick reply to Brendon’s ‘good morning, gorgeous’ text.

She puts down her coffee and sniffs the air. “Is that burning I can smell?”

“Oh shit!” I exclaim, placing my phone down on the table and quickly rushing to the toaster to pop up my cremated bread. “Rest in peace, I guess?” I shrug, and I toss it into the trash.

“You need to be more aware, Grace,” my mother hums. “You’re an adult now.”

“Yeah, but whilst I still live here, you’re able to do all my adulting for me,” I wink. She doesn’t look best pleased. I wonder if it was something I said.

“Eat up,” she says. “Or you’ll be late.”

I do as I’m told. Once I’m finished, I sling my backpack onto my shoulder and kiss my mother’s head. “I’ll see you tonight, I guess?”

“Yeah,” she smiles at me. “Yeah, see you tonight, darling. Have a good day!”

I walk to school slowly, predominantly because I can’t take my eyes off of my phone. Texting Brendon when not within him has become severely addictive - a way to be with him when I’m not with him. If only I’d known then that this very phone, and these exact texts, would be the beginning of the end - that they would be my downfall


	13. Breakaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY! Damn, I’m on a roll. This is the chapter that I’ve been waiting to write for so long, so of course, I was eager to get it up for you. This is it. This is the start of part two. I’m so excited to take you all ln this journey with Brendon, Grace and I. 
> 
> Just a little TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter for mild domestic abuse and violence. Please don’t read if you are uncomfortable, although it is very mild. A character is slapped across the face, and another is punched in the jaw. I will warn you now though, that this is just the start of what is going to be a very bumpy ride, and there will be substance abuse, more violence, and even character deaths. So if you are uncomfortable with any of those themes, I’d advise you stop reading now. No fic is worth making yourself uncomfortable for. 
> 
> Okay, that’s all from me. ENJOY! Don’t forget to let me know what you think in the comments. Your feedback is invaluable to me. 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Olivia

When I get home from school that afternoon, I’m immediately thrown off by both my Mom’s and Dad’s cars in the driveway, when neither of them should be home from work for another hour. Instantly, my heart is in my throat. I’m mentally going through the list of elderly relatives we have who I knew were sick. I should have known to expect worse than some distant great-aunt’s death. Much, much worse. 

I walk into the living room and find both my Mom and Dad sat on the couch, and they both stare at me with eyes that definitely have something to say, but they don’t know what. Shit, shit, shit.

“Heeeeey,” I say, trying to act like this is the weirdest possible scenario to come home to and that I have absolutely no idea what it could about. I pull out my phone and begin to type, pretending that I’m casually texting. “What’s going on, guys?”

“Who are you texting?” my mom asks and I can hear from her tone of voice that she’s not having any of my bullshit. Oh fuck, I think. They know. They know.

“Just someone from school,” I lie as I type our buzzwords to Brendon in capital letters. “She wanted me to go to hers tonight to work on a project, but clearly something’s going on so I won’t be able to make it.”

“Let me see,” my dad says, putting out his hand palm up.

My heart is racing. “What? No.” I realise how defensive that sounds the second my phone is out of my hands.

“Oh my God,” my mom whispers. I can feel that my eyes are wide with panic.

“Give me your phone, Grace,” Dad insists, and he crosses the room towards me.

I shake my head. “Please don’t do this,” I beg him. My phone pings and I see Brendon’s message: ‘on my way.’

“It’s him, isn’t it?” my dad hisses. I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. “It’s the fucking priest!”

“Bob, please!” my mom begs. My dad’s face is mere inches from my own. Close your eyes, I tell myself. Count to ten. Breathe. Whatever you do, don’t let go of your phone.

“Grace, so help me God,” my Dad says angrily. I feel paralysed with fear. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Where is Brendon? I need Brendon.

I open my eyes to find my dad has taken a few steps back. “I’m an adult now,” I say bravely, “and whatever I decide to do from here on out is my decision.”

“Grace,” my mother sighs. Her eyes are so full of sadness. I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed her. “Darling, just tell us. Is it him? Are you sleeping with Father Urie?”

I burst into tears, and that’s all the confirmation that she needs. She comes to me and tries to wrap her arms around me but I push her off. “No, don’t,” I cry. “I don’t want it.”

“Did he force you into it?” she asks me and looks me straight in the eyes.

“No, Mom,” I tell her honestly. “No, he never forced me into anything. I wanted it all. I’m... I’m in love with him.”

“No, you shut your mouth,” my father interjects. Both Mom and I look at him. Even though my father has never once laid a finger on either of us, there is nothing scarier than being a woman in a room with an angry man.

“Dad, please... he’s a good man,” I tell him. I’ll beg him for reasoning if I have to.

“I don’t care if he’s motherfuckin’ Jesus himself,” my Dad roars, “he’s a fully grown man!”

“No!” I scream. I refuse to believe it. They’re not going to take him away from me. I always knew what was going on. I was always in control. He never pushed me into anything. 

“Not to mention, he’s a man of God, and you were under his care... his protection. We trusted him with you and he violated you,” Dad scoffs.

I shake my head furiously. “No, he never did!” I argue. “He never, ever did.”

I hear the squeal of car tyres pulling up outside the house and I’m simultaneously relieved and terrified. We all watch from where we’re standing as Brendon sprints up our driveway and lets himself into my house.

“Gracie!” he shouts, voice frantic. He runs into the living room and stops. He looks at me, and then at my parents. The tension in the air is palpable. I can almost taste it.

“Get the fuck out of my house before I throw you out,” my dad says to him through gritted teeth. I’m so fucking happy when he stands his ground and stands behind me, hands on my shoulders.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says rationally, “and frankly, Bob, you don’t scare me.”

I watch as pure rage clouds my father’s vision. I know that he’s seeing red. I’m so scared of what’s going to happen next. I never wanted this to happen. I never, ever wanted this to happen.

“How long have you been screwing my daughter?” Dad asks him. I’m so scared that if I move even an inch, my Dad will lose it.

“That’s between Grace and I,” Brendon says. I have no idea how he’s remaining so fucking calm. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. “Your daughter is an adult. She has no obligations to you. And you have no leverage over her.”

“You fucking son of a-” my father explodes. Instinctively, Brendon pushes me behind him, shielding me with his body. Just in case. “I should have you fucking shot!”

“What happened between us was with your daughter’s consent. She may be your daughter, but she’s almost nineteen. She’s legal. You have nothing.”

I listen as this gorgeous, calm, educated man absolutely annihilates my redneck, Trump-supporting father and I can’t help but reach for my love’s hand, squeezing it. When he squeezes back, I’m reminded just how in love with him I am.

“You think that’s gonna stop me from trying, sonny?” He squares up to Brendon and I brace myself for the worst. I know that if my father swings for him, I will not hesitate to hit back. I may be small, but I’ll be damned if I’m not mighty.

“Grace and I are leaving,” Brendon informs both of them. “I don’t know where we’re going, but rest assured that it’s far away from here. My position at the church has already been filled. If you try to follow us, I swear to God, I will personally have my lawyers destroy you for harassment, am I understood?”

“Like hell you are!” Dad shouts.

“Grace, love, please,” my Mom begs, outstretching her arms to me. I want to hug her so much, but I know it’s a trap. I have to be strong, or we’re not going to make it out alive.

“Mom, this is what I want,” I tell her. “It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time.”

“Honey, you’ve just started college. You have your whole life ahead of you. I promise you... I promise you both, if you stay, we’ll find a way for you to be together. We’ll make it all work out.”

I know she’s lying. She’ll say anything at this point to keep me here. I can’t listen to her.

“I’m sorry,” I shrug. “I have to go. I want to go. I want to start over with Brendon somewhere new. Am I selfish for wanting that?”

“Gracie,” Brendon murmurs to me. “None of this is your fault. None of it.”

“I swear to fuck, if you don’t get out of my house this second and leave my daughter alone, I’ll personally shoot you myself,” my dad shouts.

I know that it’s not an empty threat. My dad owns many, many guns. I feel sick. “B, we need to go. Now.”

He looks into my eyes and I can tell from how sad his look that he can see how scared mine are. “Go and get your things,” he tells me.

I break away from him reluctantly, and I rush upstairs. I hear commotion following me but I don’t look back.

“Grace, get your ass back down here, you bitch!” my father cries. I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder. I don’t have time to grab anything else. This will have to do.

At the bottom of the stairs, Brendon is holding my father back from launching himself up the stairs after me. I bolt down the stairs and I attempt to run straight past them both and into the living room but I’m not fast enough and my dad wriggles an arm free from Brendon’s grip. A flash of white splashes across my vision as the back of his hand makes a harsh connection with the back of my cheek. I scream out in a mixture of shock and pain and run into the living room.

“You fucking scumbag! How dare you?!” I hear Brendon shout. My skin is throbbing. I hear a mixture of grunts and groans and can only presume that they’re fighting out in the hallway.

“Oh God, I’m calling the police,” Mom exclaims.

“No!” I shout. “If you pick up that phone, I will never come back again.” I really mean it, and I know that she knows. She puts the phone back down.

I take my chances and head back into the hallway. Brendon is beneath my physically stronger father. I barely have a chance to scream before my dad’s fist roughly connects with Brendon’s jaw.

“Get off of him!” I beg. I try to tug my father off of him but it’s no good. I’m nowhere near strong enough. Feeling me try, however, does provide my father with a moment of weakness, and Brendon wriggles out from beneath him and grabs my hand. “Grace!” he shouts. “Now!”

The cool October air hits me in the face almost as harshly as my father’s hand did. We run to his car at the bottom of the drive. I chuck my bag into the trunk. I hear the ice-cold click of a rifle.

“Get back here!” shouts my father from the house. I glance back and see him, gun in hand.I shriek when he shoots, and the bullet bounces off of the paintwork of the vehicle.

“Brendon, now!” I cry, and we both get into the car. He revs the engine. My heart feels like it might burst out of my chest. “Drive!” I scream at him, shaking his shoulders in terror. “Fucking drive!”

Tyres squeal against tarmac and I press my hand to the window as he spins the wheel. I shriek when another shot fires, shattering the back windscreen. Brendon speeds down our street and around the corner.

“Don’t stop,” I pant breathlessly. “Don’t stop driving.”

I get a look at him for the first time. His face is red and a little swollen and his nose is pouring blood. “Oh my God,” I sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Gracie, shut up,” he says with feeling. “Here, take my hand. It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m gonna be fine. None of this was your fault.”

I nod, but my bottom lip continues to tremble. He looks so terrible. If it wasn’t for me, his face would still be intact right now.

“How are you, though?” he asks, and glances across quickly to me, unlocking our hands so he can tilt my cheek towards him. “Holy fucking shit,” he curses.

I look in the mirror above my head. His palm print is red upon my skin, branding me.

“How dare he...” Brendon mutters beneath his breath. “How fucking dare he lay a finger upon you?”

“I’m okay,” I reassure him, taking his hand again. I miss it holding my own already. “It doesn’t even hurt that much,” and honestly, it doesn’t, but maybe that’s because it still feels numb.

I don’t know how long we’ve been driving, but we’re on the highway now, so we’re well out of town now and headed for the city. Brendon tries to pull over.

“No,” I say. “No, please. Keep driving.” So he does.

I stare out of my window, at the cars that zip by like flashes of light, at the darkening clouds above that bring promise of rain, and then I look back to Brendon, and I have never been so completely and utterly in love with someone.

“I don’t care where we go,” I tell him. “I don’t fucking care where we end up. You can drive me to the edge of the fucking world if you want. Just as long as I’m with you.”

“You and me, darlin,” he says, glancing over to me quickly and smiling. God, he looks rough, but he’s still so fucking beautiful when he smiles. I smile back at him and nod.

“Til the end of the line.”

“Til the end of the line.”


	14. Room 93

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you lovely lot! I’m back. I’m sorry there wasn’t an update yesterday. There’s no excuse for it other than I just needed a day off to refuel. I wasn’t feeling particularly creative and I didn’t want to write anything just for the sake of it. I’m glad I didn’t, because I came back this morning ready and raring to go. I like this chapter a lot. I hope you all do too. Let me know what you think in the comments! Your feedback and your compliments mean everything to me. 
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, because the car slowing to a stop rouses me. Opening my eyes, I stretch out sleepily. It’s dark outside now. How long have we been driving? Where even are we? 

I look across and there he is, sat in the driver’s seat opposite me. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed. I wonder if he’s praying. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. Who could?

“B,” I whisper, and he opens his eyes to look at me. He smiles softly, as if he’s only just realised that I’ve been there all along.

If anything, his face looks worse now. His cheek is swollen and dried blood coats his nose and lips. I gingerly reach out a hand to touch his injuries and he winces.

“Sorry,” I say, and I unbuckle my seatbelt so I can edge in a little closer. “Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.”

I feel that familiar pang of guilt in my chest again. This is all my fault. I wish I could take it all back. Gently, I run one of my hands through his hair the way that I know he likes, and as always, he keens into my touch. “Thank you,” I murmur. I know that no words can express my gratitude. They seem to be enough for him though, because he looks at me like I’m the complete centre of his universe, and I wonder what I ever did to deserve a look like that from a man as wonderful as him.

“Where are we?” I ask him, looking out of the window. We’re in a dimly lit car park outside a sketchy looking motel. I don’t recognise it at all. “How long were we driving?”

“A few hours,” he tells me. “We’re about a hundred miles from home, I think, but we can go further tomorrow if you want. It’s late. I figured we should find somewhere to stay for the night.”

I nod. “I can’t believe you drove that far with your face like that.”

“Yeah, well, I hope it’s not gonna stop us from getting a room here,” he glances towards the motel. “They might think we’re good-for-nothings who are gonna trash the place.”

“Somehow, I don’t think this place is on a par with the Ritz,” I tease. “And hey, we are good-for-nothings, aren’t we? And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I want to kiss him so much but I don’t want to risk hurting him, so I bring his knuckles up to my lips and kiss them instead. I hear him sigh deeply and without having to convey words, I know I feel exactly the same as what he is feeling - a combination of relief, exhaustion and indescribable fear.

We get out of the car, grab our things and walk hand in hand up to the motel. I can’t put into words how exhilarating it feels to hold his hand in public, even if it is in a deserted parking lot at ten o’clock at night.

The motel lobby is kind of exactly how I pictured it would be in my mind - it’s small and dimly-lit and the decor is dated. It smells... interesting. I squeeze Brendon’s hand for reassurance. This definitely feels like a place where we could get murdered.

At the desk is a girl not much older than myself, in a very short skirt, and her hair is up in pigtails, even though she has definitely outgrown the style. She sits with her feet up on the counter, her acrylic finger nails clickety-clacking on her phone screen, chewing gum obnoxiously loud.

She doesn’t notice us when we enter, nor when we approach the desk. Brendon has to clear his throat for her to look up, and even when she does, she doesn’t seem enthused by our presence. Or even that disturbed by the look of Brendon’s bloodied face. What kind of a place is this?

“Yeah?” she says nonchalantly.

“Have you got a room for the night?” Brendon asks.

The girl sighs, removes her sneakers from the worktop and grabs a key. It jangles as she hands it to Brendon. “Room 93,” she tells him. “That’s 80 dollars.”

I watch as he reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet, handing the girl the money necessary. I gulp. I don’t know why I have such a bad feeling about this.

“It’s on the second floor, towards the end of the corridor, right-hand side,” she tells us. Brendon thanks her, and I mumble a little “thank you” too, just to be polite. As we’re walking away, I glance back at the girl. She notes our joined hands and makes an expression of confusion, locking eyes with me. I smile to hopefully reassure her that I’m alright, but I don’t know if she’s convinced.

We head into a dingy stairwell with a blinking light. The entire place, and the atmosphere it holds, feels like something out of a horror film. When we reach our room, Brendon slides in the key and only once the door is closed and locked behind us do I feel a little relief. It’s just me and him now. The rest of the world has been put on hold.

The room is very small. There’s barely enough room for the bed. In the corner is a small closet, and next to that, a door, which I can only presume leads to the bathroom. The wallpaper looks like it hasn’t been changed since the 1970’s and the mirror that hangs on the wall opposite the bed is saturated in dust. It’s cold, too. I wrap my arms around myself. I want to go home more than anything, but I also never want to go home again. Immediately, Brendon flops down onto the bed. He kicks off his shoes and closes his eyes.

“C’mere,” he says gently, holding his arms open for me. I don’t need much motivation to lie down beside him. I place my head on his chest and I can hear his heartbeat. I want to cry. He presses the sweetest of kisses into my hair and I wrap my arm around his torso just that little bit tighter.

It’s like he knows that I need to hear something encouraging, because softly, he says, “everything’s gonna be alright, Gracie. This isn’t forever. I’m going to find us somewhere - something - better.”

I sniff and tilt my head up to look into his eyes. “We made a plan what feels like forever ago,” I begin, “a plan to escape. And that was all that consumed my brain for so long and now we’re out, and I have no fucking clue what we’re gonna do now.”

He sighs and licks his lips. “I know,” he responds. “I know, I feel the same. But hey,” he props himself up on one elbow and I do the same. Our faces are inches apart. “In the morning, when it’s light, we’ll head north. To the city. And we’ll find somewhere better to stay there.”

“We’ll have to get jobs,” I say. “This money isn’t gonna last forever.”

He nods. “I’ve never had a proper job,” he smiles sweetly. I want to take a picture of that smile in my mind and store it there forever. For rainy days. For days when he’s not there.

“Me neither,” I tell him. “We can figure it out together.”

I get up off the bed completely and head into the bathroom. I don’t know why I would even think for a second that a place like this would have a first aid kit in the bathroom, but I need something.

There’s a little soap dish on the sink, so I dribble a little cool water from the tap into that and take it back into the bedroom, along with a roll of toilet paper. “Sit up,” I tell Brendon, whose eyes are closed. I’m not letting him fall asleep before I sort him out.

He does, and I delicately push his hair back out of his face. Ripping off a piece of tissue, I fold it, and dab it into the water, and then gently, I press it to his wounds. He winces. “Don’t be such a baby,” I taunt, but I press a kiss to his forehead for good measure.

I continue like this for a while, and he lets me, dabbing off the dried blood from his face until he’s left clean faced, but still red and swollen. His cheek is already starting to bruise a little.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He doesn’t have to thank me - everything I do for him, I do it because I love him. I place the soap dish and the toilet roll on the little bedside table and I run both of my hands through his hair, carding my fingers through his dark locks. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, even with a fucked up face. I guess this is what love is. I think I finally understand.

“Gracie,” he whispers, and I can tell he has more to say. I can also tell that it’s something I don’t want to hear. “You know it’s okay to cry, don’t you?”

“I don’t need to cry,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart,” he urges. Why is he doing this? Why can’t he just leave it?

I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. I hate that he knows me better than I know myself. I hate that he always knows what’s best for me. I hate how much I absolute, undeniably, desperately need him.

When I start crying, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. I press my face against his t-shirt and sob into his chest to muffle the sound. He holds me so close. He shushes me, and he kisses my hair and I cry and cry and cry until I don’t think my body has any water left. My head hurts so much. I’ve never felt so empty.

When I’ve moved past that stage of uncontrollable body-wracking sobs and moved onto sad, small whimpers, I feel Brendon lay us both down. He strokes my hair until I’ve stopped crying completely. I feel such a heaviness to my entire body.

“Here,” he offers, and he begins to unbutton my school blouse. “Let’s get you into something, comfier, huh? Then we’ll sleep. And things will make more sense in the morning.”

I take over with the unbuttoning. I’m not a child. I love him, but I don’t need him to undress me. I don’t need him to make me feel any weaker than I already do. I strip down to my underwear and climb underneath the scratchy sheets. Brendon does the same, and he pulls me into his body. It suddenly hits me that this is the first night that we will sleep together. Actually sleep together. He can hold me the entire night and nobody can stop him from doing so. Suddenly my heart feels warmer, like somebody has finally turned on the light.

Everything sucks right now. We’re in some gross, musty motel room that probably hasn’t seen fresh air in a decade. (I’m pretty sure that the window is actually stuck and we couldn’t get it open even if we wanted to.) We’re miles and miles from home and I know that we can’t go back - not tomorrow, not ever. I didn’t leave much behind, but what I did leave was my everything.

He’s all I have left. I used to say that he was ‘my everything’ back when I lived at home and I secretly sucked him off in the church vestry, but I had no fucking clue what that meant back then. Now I do. Now I really, really do. I fall asleep with my head against his chest, listening to the regular thumping of his heart. I realise now that it’s my favourite sound in this whole Goddamn world


	15. Ragdoll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I’m back! I just wanted to thank you all for your support - it means everything to me. I’m very busy with work at the moment so I haven’t had a chance to write as much as I would like to, so bear with me. I never originally intended for this chapter to be smutty, but then it just ended up as sinful filth, so if that isn’t your thing, feel free to skip this one. But hey! If it is, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> The next chapter is going to be a lot more plot driven. I don’t want to give too much away but it’ll be one of the most important chapters so far, so it may take me a couple of days to write it, but I promise that I haven’t forgotten about this fic, or you lovely readers. I still love you lots and want to keep writing for you - it’s just difficult when I’m working eight hours every day. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this in the comments, as always.
> 
> All my love,  
> Olivia

 

When I wake up the next morning, my head feels heavy and my limbs ache. I check in with myself to see how I slept and for the most part, I feel well rested. I’m no longer tucked into Brendon’s arms - we must have wriggled apart in the night - and when I turn over to face him, I forget to mentally prepare myself for the sight that greets me. I’d forgotten that I’ve never seen him sleeping before, and even with a bruised, swollen face, it’s still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. His lips are slightly parted and his eyelashes are so long they’re almost touching his cheek. As carefully as I can, I reach over the side of the bed and pick up my phone that’s on the floor, and I click a few photos of him, just for my own safe-keeping.

The time on my phone reads 9:11 a.m., and I don’t know what time check out is, or if this place even has a time for check out. Delicately, I run my fingers through his hair and he stirs. “Wakey wakey, sleepyhead,” I whisper, leaning across to kiss his good cheek. His lips quirk up into a little smile, so I know he’s heard me.

When his eyes open, I feel a tightness spread across my chest. Sometimes, I can’t believe that he’s mine and that I get to have moments like this with him all the time.

“What time is it?” he croaks, voice thick with sleep.

“Just gone nine,” I tell him. “How are you feeling?”

He huffs and pushes himself up, so he’s sitting upright. “I’m okay,” he sighs, yawning. “How about you, doll?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply truthfully. “You were right. Sleeping on things did help.”

“When am I ever wrong?” he teases. I bat his arm playfully. “Hey,” he begins seriously, and I can see from his change in expression that a thought has just come to him. “You don’t think your parents have called the cops, do you?”

I think for a moment but then I shake my head. “No,” I say. “My dad would have wanted to, but my mom wouldn’t have let him.” I remember my mother’s ashen face from the day before when I told her that if she rang the police, I would never, ever come back again, and I know that she knew I didn’t just mean in that moment. I meant if she ever called them. “Besides, if they had, they would have tracked my phone by now,” I reassure him. “I think they’ll both still be under the illusion that I’ll be coming home soon.”

“You know that we can’t ever go back, don’t you?” he says seriously.

I feel my throat tighten and struggle to get any words out. “Yeah, I know that.”

“Like... ever,” he reiterates. “It’d be a bloodbath.” 

Brendon sighs and drops his head into his hands. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think any amount of physical comfort I could give him would fix this right now.

“I’m... I’m gonna shower,” I tell him, and I disappear into the bathroom. The shower must be at least forty years old and it’s yellowing and there’s tiny flecks of black mould peering out at me from in between the cracks in the walls. I shower with my eyes closed in water that’s ice cold one minute and almost boiling the next. Heading back into our room with a towel wrapped around my body and another smaller one around my head, I find Brendon sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks so small.

“Whatcha looking at?” I ask him as I dry off and tug some clean clothes out of my duffel bag.

“Places for us to go.”

Tugging my jeans up my legs, I glance back at him. “Like, cities or places to stay?”

“The latter,” he answers. “I know where we’re going.”

“Is it far?”

“An hour and a half at most,” he shrugs. He looks up at me as I pull a plain white t-shirt over my head. “Is that okay with you?”

I nod. “Anything’s okay with me.”

I crawl across the bed to him, smirking, and when our faces are inches apart, I brush my lips with his without actually kissing him. I look into his eyes. I can read his mind without even trying to. He tugs me closer, but I feign interest. “Don’t you want to go?” I ask him.

“Not if you’re being a fucking tease,” he mutters.

He pulls me into his lap. I straddle his waist. His hands lock themselves in my hair. “God, you’re fucking perfect,” he says upon exhale.

I roll my eyes. “Did I just get dressed for nothing?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he just kisses me hard, forcing his tongue into my mouth almost immediately. Hands grab at anything - at clothes, at hair, at skin. Less than a minute into this exchange, my shirt is off again, crumpled on the bedroom floor.

His hands reach around to blindly unhook my bra, and he slides the material down my arms. I gasp when he wastes no time in connecting his mouth to my breasts, his tongue working itself against my nipple. “Fuck,” I mutter, and now my hands are in his hair, tugging upon it gently.

His power over me is unlike anything else I’ve yet felt. I don’t need to have sex with anybody else to know that he will always be my best kiss, my hottest touch, and the best fuck of my life.

I feel his erection pressing against my thigh and I don’t need to check to know that I’m extremely wet. I clamber off his lap, but he tugs me right back aggressively. Oh, I think. So this is how it’s going to be.

“Did I fucking say that I was done with you?” he growls against my ear, gripping my ass roughly through my jeans.

I whimper. “No, Daddy.” If he’s going to treat me like his whore, I’m going to damn well act like it. He runs his hands all over my chest and then pushes me roughly off his lap. There’s an evil glint in his eye. It doesn’t scare me anymore.

“Jeans off,” he demands, so I oblige. I tug them off and discard them on the floor. “And these, Daddy?” I ask sweetly, running my fingertips over my underwear. He licks his lips and I think it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “Off,” he decides.

I pull them down and off of my legs. I stare deep into his eyes and await further instructions.

“Do you know what I want you to do, kitten?” he asks.

I nod. “I think so.”

I lean down and begin to trace the outline of his cock through his boxers teasingly with a smirk upon my lips. When he takes a fistful of my hair and pulls on it, I know not to be so complacent. I wriggle his boxers down his legs and throw them to the side.

His cock is hard and angry-looking. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted it more in my mouth than I do right now. Wrapping one hand around the base, I flicker innocent eyes up to meet his lustful ones and I open my mouth, rubbing the head of his dick against my tongue, making sure not to break our eye contact.

“Fuck, angel,” he hisses. I wish the entire world knew how weak I can make him.

I hollow out my cheeks and dip, taking him in, and I begin to bob my head up and down, using my tongue as the best weapon in my arsenal. A string of moans, whines and incoherent cuss words fall from his beautiful lips. I drink every one of them in like they’re the harshest liquor I’ve ever tasted.

Pulling off, I use my own spit to slick him up, pumping his length with my hand. “Am I doing a good job, Daddy?” I ask, just to fuel my own ego.

“You’re doing great, princess,” he murmurs, in a voice much lower than usual. He strokes my hair gently, which feels like such a juxtaposition when considering what I’m doing to him right now. I’d much rather he pull it.

I go back down again, taking him in as deep as possible. When I feel a hand on the back of my head slowly pushing me down further, I try my best to just relax and let it happen. I gag when the tip of his cock brushes against the back of my throat and pull off messily.

“God,” he sighs. “You look so fucking pretty when you choke on my dick.”

Those words themselves have me wanting to come. I’m so desperate to have him inside of me. “Daddy, I can’t wait any longer,” I whine pathetically. I feel like such a child, but at the same time, I have never felt more like a woman.

“Oh you can’t?” he coos in a patronising fashion. “What if I make you?”

I gulp. “What do you mean?” I ask. The smirk playing on his lips really isn’t a good sign.

“What if I make you wait until you’re really begging for it?” he whispers.

I really don’t know if I can wait much longer. I need him now. Roughly, he tugs me by the wrists, so that my face is level with his again, and he kisses me messily. “Daddy...” I sigh into his mouth. I’m met with a groan of pleasure in return. He really gets off on that nickname, doesn’t he?

“Want me to fuck you?” he says through gritted teeth. “Want me to fuck you until you can’t stand?”

My thighs are quivering just at the mere thought of it. “Please,” I beg. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

He handles me like a ragdoll and honestly, it’s the hottest thing in the world - just letting him have his way with me. He pulls me this way and that until he’s satisfied with the position. I’m lying down on my back and he’s above me. He’s backlit by the shitty motel light fixture, and yet he still looks like some sort of God.

“Fuck me,” I spit aggressively. “Go on. Fuck me.”

He tugs on my hair again and I yelp. “You gonna talk to me like that, huh? Make demands? You wanna try that one more time?”

I do and I don’t. I’m afraid that he’ll punish me by not giving me what I truly want.

“Daddy,” I cry our pitifully. “Can’t wait any longer. Need you so much.”

He can see how desperate I am, so he pushes in slowly, and I grip the scratchy sheets beneath me with white knuckles. Once he knows that I’m adjusted and comfortable, he’s relentless, and he begins to fuck me hard and fast, until a string of slurred curse words fall from my lips and my back is arched off of the bed, begging him for more.

His hair is damp with sweat, a few strands hanging in front of his face, which is also slick. He grunts and grits his teeth as he pushes into me at such a force that I can’t see straight. He’s never fucked me like this before. Never. It’s absolutely unreal. Otherworldly.

I can’t even form words anymore. I grip at whatever I can find. Whether that’s the sheets, or his skin, or my own body, I don’t care. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.

When I come, I can’t warn him. It completely consumes me, and my entire body starts shaking. I know he can feel me climaxing, because distantly, I can hear his whines. When he pulls out to come himself, I instantly feel his absence.

“Mouth,” he chokes out, and I part my lips obediently, sticking out my tongue for him to shoot across. He does so with a strangled cry, and I close my eyes as he comes. I love how he tastes far more than I probably should.

It takes a long time for us both to recover. I think we pass out, because I wake up, although I don’t remember ever falling asleep. We clean ourselves up and pack up our shit after our brief nap. I already feel like we’ve outstayed our welcome.

As we vacate our room and head out into the corridor, the sound of our door - our particular door - summons our motel neighbours. One by one, the doors down the hallway open, and out peer curious heads. Some people step into their doorways completely. Others seem like they’re too afraid to look. Glancing at Brendon, I reach for his hand and I lock our fingers. He smiles at me, like I’m the only person in the world, and we conduct our walk of shame with fucking style.

I can feel the judgemental eyes of everybody upon me. Old, young, male, female - they’d heard every second of it, and I know that’s why they’re staring now. I feel like a rockstar. I feel like I’m on cloud nine. And I don’t want to ever come down again.

In the lobby, Brendon slams our room key onto the counter. The same girl is working today as last night - I wonder if she’s even had a break.

“Thanks, babe,” Brendon drawls, winking at her before we turn and go, hand-in-hand, like a modern day Bonnie & Clyde. He dips his head and his sunglasses fall down from his hair onto his eyes. He’s a motherfucking God.

We shove our bags in the backseat and climb into the car. He revs the engine, places one hand upon the steering wheel, and hands me his other.

“You ready?” he smiles.

“Just fucking drive.”


	16. A Moment You’ll Never Remember...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello again, guys! Finally, here we go - the longest chapter of this fic so far. This was so much fun to write and you finally get to meet maybe my favourite character in this entire story. I’m so excited to know what you all think!
> 
> I hope you’re all doing well. I’ll try to get the next chapter up ASAP but work is killing me right now. Let me know what you’re thinking of the story so far in the comments. That would mean a lot. 
> 
> Oh, and also! I’ve started making a playlist of Bracie (Brendon/Gracie) songs to motivate me when writing. If you have any suggestions, or songs that remind you of them, drop them into the comments below. 
> 
> As always, I love you guys, amd I can’t wait to see your reactions. 
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

 

This afternoon is one that I’m going to hold in my memories forever. Brendon rolls down the top and we drive for miles and miles - just us and the open road. It feels too good to be true, like it’s something out of a movie. I’ve never felt so fucking high before, and I’m completely sober. We blast music at full volume and sing along at the top of our lungs. We laugh until our cheeks ache. At one point, he pulls over, and I sit in his lap and I kiss him until I feel dizzy.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that it can’t be like this forever, even if I desperately want it to be. Bravely, I suppress the thought of ever not being as happy as I am right now. I refuse to think about it. I just want to live in the now.

“Where even are we?” I ask him at one point. My feet are up on the dashboard and I have one hand casually stroking his hair as he drives.

He tells me, and I hum. “That’s a long way from home,” I muse.

“Stop calling it home,” he says a little aggressively.

I stop stroking his hair. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Fuck, no,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just... it’s not our home anymore, Gracie darling. You have to let it go.”

Let it go, I think to myself. Easier said than done.

We drive for a long, long time. When we start to see signs for the city, my face lights up like a child’s on Christmas Day. Brendon has a particular hotel that he wants to check our for vacancies. It’s lowkey and inexpensive but from the photos he’s shown me, it looks clean and modern - “the perfect place to crash for a couple of days, til we figure everything out,” he told me.

I really haven’t considered our long-term future out here. I’m still very much just living in the moment and trying to bury my head in the sand. I don’t know what we’re going to do when our money runs out. I have no idea how we’re going to support ourselves.

We’re in the heart of the city now, shrouded by skyscrapers. “Holy shit,” I mutter. All my life, I’ve lived in small towns. I’ve visited big cities before, of course, but they never fail to amaze me.

Eventually, we pull into a hotel car park and he switches off the engine. I smile at him. He smiles at me. God, I’m never going to tire of that smile.

The hotel thankfully has vacancies, so we pay the necessary deposit and head up to our new temporary home. I could get used to this hotel-hopping lark. It’s a lot of fun.

“Well, this is much nicer,” I sigh happily, flopping down onto the large double bed. The sheets feel clean and smooth. I want to sleep in this bed for days.

Yawning, I ask him, “what time is it?”

“5,” he answers. He stands at the window with his hands on his hips and stares out at the bustling city below. “Let’s go out tonight,” he says.

I sit up. “Out?” I query. “Out where?”

“Just out,” he shrugs. “See what’s out there. I wanna get pissed.”

Is now a good time to tell him that I’ve never been drunk before? “Sure,” I quip. “Sounds good.”

“You do have ID with you, don’t you?” he asks, turning to look at me. He notices my expression and groans. “Fucking hell, Gracie.”

“What?” I laugh. “The only ID I have is my passport, and I don’t know where that is! Besides, I’m not 21.”

“Yeah, but we could have- you know what, never mind. We’ll figure something out.”

He comes and lies down next to me and he kicks off his shoes. I curl into his body. I rest my head upon his chest. I feel so unbelievably safe when I’m locked in his embrace.

“B? I whisper.

He hums in response. “Yeah?”

“I’ve never been drunk before.”

Sleepily, he laughs. His eyes are already closed. “Oh darlin,” he sighs.”We’re gonna have the best night. Just you wait.” 

 

***

 

When I wake up, it’s nearing nine. Brendon is still sound asleep, and he’s still holding onto me protectively, like a little boy clutching his teddy bear. I try to wriggle out of his grasp but subconsciously, he tightens his grip, like he doesn’t want me to go. My brain is screaming. I am so fucking in love with him.

“Babe,” I laugh, and I kiss his chest to rouse him, working my way up to his neck, his jaw, his lips. “Come on. Get up.”

Brendon groans. “What time is it?”

I tell him, and slowly and reluctantly, he opens his eyes. He reaches a hand up to stroke my hair.

“You know,” he begins. “I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to get to wake up beside you.”

I scoff and untangle myself from his arms. “We still going out?” I ask him.

“Course we fucking are. Put on a pretty dress,” he smirks. I’m so devoted to him that I think I’d go out in my underwear if he asked.

I have a black silk number that I’ve never worn. I bought it about a year ago because it made me feel badass, but I never told my parents about it. I think my dad would have probably burned it if he knew about its existence. “I’ll be back,” I say to him as I saunter into the bathroom, the dress in one hand and my make-up bag in the other.

I haven’t applied a full face of make-up in so long that it’s almost like I’ve forgotten. Somehow I manage to make myself look semi-decent. No. More than semi-decent. As I comb my hair with my fingers, I stare long and hard at myself in the bathroom mirror, with my smokey eyes and red lips and damn, this is the best I’ve looked in a long time. This new found confidence I have has in part, come from Brendon, but I think the majority of it has coming from me, and from finding myself. I don’t feel lost anymore.

I change into the dress. It’s very plain - just spaghetti straps and a straight silhouette that makes me feel like some sort of goddess. It’s also incredibly short. For some reason, that makes it ten times better.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” Brendon says, slack-jawed when I emerge from the bathroom. I give him a little twirl and he just stops, half-dressed, and stares at me.

“You like it?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip. I know damn well that he likes it.

“Are you real?” he asks, approaching me. Delicately, he runs his fingertips over the silk.

“I’m real,” I murmur.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Finish getting dressed, asshole,” I tease, winking at him. I rummage through my bag and tug on some black converse. I don’t think I’ve ever owned a pair of heels in my life.

He dresses plainly, in black jeans and a white t-shirt, but still manages to look like some sort of God. I have no idea how he does it. Finally. he pulls on a black leather jacket, and I firmly decide it’s my favourite thing that I’ve ever seen him wear.

“Please never take that jacket off,” I beg him.

“Alright, darlin,” he winks, and he holds out his hand to me. “Shall we?”

I lock my fingers with his and smile. It’s moments like this that I still have trouble understanding how he’s mine.

I leave everything I have at the hotel. We’ll rely upon his phone and credit card tonight. We don’t have to drive far to find the heart of the nightlife here. An entire strip of clubs and bars are bustling with hundreds of interesting and unique individuals. Neon lights illuminate the boulevard. Tonight is going to be so fucking good. I feel electricity coursing through my veins already and I haven’t even drank a drop.

We park in some alley where it is definitely a possibility that a car as expensive as Brendon’s could definitely get hot-wired but he’s doesn’t seem to care. Hand in hand, we stroll towards the clubs.

“Now listen,” he tells me, “they’re gonna ask for your ID, but just follow my lead.”

I nod. I trust him.

“Pretend to look for it. Say you can’t find it. And don’t kick up a fuss - we need to remain anonymous and forgettable.”

We walk over to one particular club whose queue isn’t very long, and I don’t know whether to take that as a good or a bad sign. When we reach the front of the line, naturally, I’m stopped.

“You got ID, sweetheart?”

I smile sweetly. “Yeah, I put it in your pocket, I think?” I say to Brendon.

He pretends to check. “Babe, I don’t have it,” he whispers.

“What?” I act. “I swore I gave it to you!”

The bouncer grunts. “Sorry, guys. No ID, no entry.”

Brendon sighs and resigns, and we step to the side.

“Now what?” I whisper to him.

He takes my hand. “Come with me.”

I’m surprised by how well he knows how to navigate this city. Has he been here before? He leads me down a particular alley and we emerge around the back of the strip of clubs, by their deserted yards where their deliveries of booze must come in. I realise his plan and tug on his hand.

“Are we... going to sneak in?”

He just smirks at me, and keeps walking. He looks like he finds the building he’s looking for and goes up to its back door, where a bartender is chucking empty bottles into a dumpster.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Yeah, uh... does Jason still work here?” Brendon queries. I lag behind a little, my arms folded.

“He does,” the bartender says. “Who’s asking?”

“An old friend,” B answers. “Is he working now? Can you grab him for me?”

The bartender hesitates, but he agrees. “Give me a minute,” he says before disappearing.

We stand there in the dark, just waiting. Brendon glances back at me. His eyebrows furrow when he sees my arms folded tightly and my shoulders hunched. Without a word, he slips off his leather jacket and comes and places it over my shoulders, kissing my forehead for good measure.

“Hello?” a voice from the door says, and Brendon turns around to face the man that stands there, in the same uniform as the man who came before him. He’s around Brendon’s age,tall and stocky, with dark hair and dark eyes. “Holy shit,” he murmurs when he realises the face of the man in front of him.

“Hey, Jase,” Brendon smiles. “It’s been a while.”

They hug. Jason looks like he can’t quite believe that Brendon is stood in front of him. I can most certainly relate.

“Man, what are you doing here?” he asks, and then quieter, but loud enough for me to hear, “do your folks know you’re back?”

“No,” Brendon says gravely, “and they can’t know. Listen...can you get us in?” he glances back to me. I can feel how awkward the smile that I give is, and I hate myself for it.

“Bro, I don’t know,” Jason sighs and then he pulls Brendon in a bit closer and they start muttering things that are inaudible to me. I tug B’s jacket tighter around my shoulders.

Eventually, the volume of their conversation returns to normal. “Man, thank you,” Brendon says, and he reaches back for me. “Come on, babe.”

I trust Brendon with my life, but there’s something unnerving about being the only woman in the company of men. I hold his hand and when he squeezes it, I’m reassured that all of my fears are in my head. He’s the best man that I know.

“You guys have a good night,” Jason says to us. “You know where you’re going, don’t cha, B?”

Brendon nods. I don’t like the fact that people other than myself call him ‘B’.

“I’ll catch up with you later!” Jason calls. “I’ll put all your drinks on my card, man! Good to have you back!”

I don’t ask questions, even though I have so many. Up until now, I’ve felt like I understood Brendon better than anybody else in the world. I’m only now just realising that I know absolutely nothing about him. I’m holding his hand but I feel like a stranger.

The atmosphere of the club punches me in the face as we enter. The smells, the sounds, the sights - it’s a sensory overload. I can’t hear myself think. I clutch Brendon’s hand like a desperate child. I acknowledge for the first time tonight that I think I’m actually a little bit afraid.

We approach the bar, and Brendon orders whiskey for himself and a Screwdriver for me. I have absolutely no fucking idea what that is, and I’m kind of scared to find out. I’m pleasantly surprised when our drinks arrive and I discover it’s just a fancy cocktail name for a vodka and orange juice.

He places his hand on my hip as he sips his whiskey. I stare at him as I drink through the straw. “How do you know that guy?” I ask, shouting over the music.

“He’s just an old friend,” he answers plainly. “We go way back.”

“This club... you’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah. A few times.”

I finish my drink far too quickly. I can tell that from the way Brendon laughs at me. “You have absolutely no fucking idea how to pace yourself, do you, babe?”

“I’m not here to be sensible,” I say with confidence, and I smirk when I watch his face change from amused to stunned.

“Fucking hell, you’re amazing,” he sighs.

We just keep drinking. Before we dance, I need to feel some sort of buzz. He orders us some shots. I have absolutely no idea what I’m drinking, but I know that its alcohol content must be pretty fucking high for them to taste as vile as they do.

Two cocktails and three shots in, I feel electric. Untouchable. I tug him away from the bar. “Dance with me,” I say.

The dance-floor is packed with hot, gorgeous bodies. I press myself up against him and I dance like I actually know how to.

“You’re fucking divine,” he murmurs against my ear as we’re dancing. I’m so in love with him, it’s unreal.

My head throbs in time to the music and the pull for another drink is strong. I tug Brendon by the hand over to the bar and we order another round.

“Surely I’m not that high already,” says a guy next to us at the bar. We both turn to look at him. He’s tall, slim, with a long face and piercing blue eyes, even in this nightclub light.

“Holy shit,” Brendon exhales. Not this again. How many old faces are we going to bump into tonight?

“So my eyes don’t deceive me,” the mystery man chuckles. “Brendon Urie, in the flesh.”

“You guys know each other?” I confidently interject, caught in the middle. I’ve never seen Brendon look so shaken.

“Yeah, uh... we went to high school together,” he tells me, before he simply utters, “Tommy fucking Foxfield,” in some sort of state of disbelief.

“What are you doing back here?” the man, who I now know to be Tommy, asks.

It takes Brendon a moment to answer. I wish I knew why he’s so affected by this person’s presence. What sort of a history must they have to render Brendon, a man who always has something to say, absolutely speechless?

“It’s a long story,” Brendon eventually says.

Tommy smirks. “For you, I could find the time.”

I feel like I’m in the middle of something. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I announce, and slip off of my bar stool and away from the both of them before either can protest.

In the toilets, I realise two things. The first is how unbelievably drunk I am. My hands are trembling and my stomach feels uneasy. The entire room feels off kilter. I need a bed and I need one now. The second is how bizarre that exchange between Tommy and Brendon had been, and how awkward it had felt. I wish I could know everything - I wish I had all the pieces to the puzzle.

I compose myself and head back out into the loud, hot club when I feel ready to, and wrestle my way through unaware drunkards, back to the bar. Before I reach Brendon, I feel a large, strong hand on my shoulder and I turn to face its owner, freezing when I do.

“You didn’t have ID,” the bouncer says. “How the fuck did you get in?”

“I... uh...” I begin, and instead of trying to explain myself, I chance it. I run back to the bar, and I hear the bouncer calling after me as I go.

Reaching Brendon, I grab him by the hand. He’s mid-conversation with that Tommy guy. It looks serious but I don’t have the time to care. “We need to go,” I pant, smiling wickedly. “Now.”

Brendon looks confused for a hot second but then he spots the bouncer and he laughs. “Oh shit,” he exclaims. “Yeah, we’ve gotta run.” He turns to Tommy. “You coming?”

Tommy’s face says it all. All three of us bolt towards the back exit, the way that Brendon and I had initially came.

“Get back here!” the bouncer calls after us, but he’s not going to stand a chance. We slam through the backdoor, across the delivery yard, and we don’t stop running for anything.

All three of us are laughing at the top of our lungs. I have never felt so high, or rebellious, or free. This must be what pure euphoria feels like.

We run down the boulevard at the speed of light, screaming at the sky like it’s our worst enemy. “Holy fucking shit!” Brendon exclaims, and I laugh loudly. We run and run and run until my lungs are screaming for oxygen and my legs feel like jelly beneath me. Eventually. after running for God knows how long, we come to a stop.

“Jesus Christ, B,” Tommy laughs. “Where have you fucking been?” It’s more of a sigh of wonder and relief that Brendon has returned to his life, rather than a genuine question, and I watch as Brendon smiles at him and Tommy smiles back.

“Come on, assholes,” Tommy smirks. “Let’s go back to mine. It’s not that far from here.”

Perhaps I should be more hesitant than I am. After all, I only met this guy less than an hour ago. But Brendon seems to trust Tommy with his life. I can work that out from the way they look at each other. And somehow, that’s good enough for me.

 

 

 

 


	17. Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, YOU LOVELY LOT. Sorry that it’s been a while. I’ve been working most of the week and I went to Pride today, which was so much fun!
> 
> This chapter started off as a bit of a filler and then ended up turning into something completely different. Things are really starting to get interesting, and let me tell you, it’s only going to get better from here... 
> 
> Again, I apologise that this has taken a while to upload. I’m just working so much - but on the bright side, I go on holiday (vacation) soon, and I’ll be able to write, write, write! Exciting!
> 
> Let me know what you think. This chapter is very cryptic, so if you have any theories about what happens in it, let me know in the comments below. They’d be super interesting to read! Enjoy! 
> 
> All my love, always,  
> Olivia

I wish I knew what time it is. It feels late. My body is beginning to ache as I sober up. Brendon’s leather jacket drowns me and I pull it tightly around my body. We walk in line with one another - Tommy, Brendon, then I. Along the way, Tommy pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He offers one to Brendon and then one to me. I decline, but Brendon doesn’t. The distinctive, potent scent of tobacco floods my senses as the two of them light up. 

“So were you guys close in high school?” I ask. I look across and watch as they exchange a silent look that says a million words, and I don’t know a single one of them. I wish they’d stop being so damn secretive.

“Yeah,” Brendon answers for my benefit. “Yeah, we were close.”

“Tell me, Grace - it was Grace, wasn’t it?” Tommy asks. I nod. “How does a sweet girl like you get mixed up with a rogue like this?” He gestures to Brendon, and the way he squeezes my boyfriend’s shoulder doesn’t go amiss.

“It’s a long story,” I echo Brendon’s words from earlier on that night.

He looks at me. His eyes burn with anxiety. I can tell from that look alone that he doesn’t want Tommy to know how we met, so I lie.

“I met him at a house party,” I say. “A few months back. And my hometown’s boring as shit, so we’re embarking on a road trip.”

“With some trouble along the way,” Tommy scoffs.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“B’s face,” he gestures at his fading bruises. “I mean, unless that’s how you guys like it in the bedroom.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gracie,” Brendon reprimands. “Knock it off. He was joking.”

I fold my arms tighter across my chest and firmly decide that I don’t like Tommy calling him ‘B’. That’s my thing.

“No, she’s alright,” Tommy shrugs it off. “I’m sorry.”

I force a smile by way of accepting his apology.

“How much further is it to your place?” Brendon asks Tommy.

“Like ten minutes, maybe?” he shrugs. So we keep walking.

It’s actually more like twenty, but eventually, we’re ascending the staircase of a run-down apartment block that sends a chill down my spine. I don’t know what I was expecting Tommy’s place to be like, but it certainly wasn’t this.

His actual apartment is dark and fusty and reeks of weed. Subconsciously, I reach for Brendon’s hand and lock my fingers with his. He squeezes reassuringly in the way that I love.

“Make yourself at home,” Tommy exclaims. “You want a beer, bro?”

Brendon nods. “Thanks, man.”

Tommy disappears into the kitchen, and Brendon stares into my eyes for the first time in a while. I wonder if he can read the uncertainty there. “Hey,” he whispers to me. “You alright?”

I nod, even though I most certainly do not feel alright.

“Tommy’s a good guy,” he tells me. “I trust him.”

“And I trust you,” I answer. I smile when he leans down to kiss me.

“Hey, uh,” Tommy begins, and the two of us break away. “You guys can take my bed for the night,” he offers and he smiles sweetly. Perhaps Brendon is right. Perhaps he is a good guy.

“Thank you,” I say. All I want to do is sleep.

There’s a pregnant pause, until Tommy breaks it, speaking quickly, stumbling over his words like his tongue is his untied shoelaces.

“S-so uh, sit down, guys,” he says, leading us over to the couch. There’s something jittery about the way he moves and speaks. I wonder what cocktail of drugs he’s on tonight.

Brendon sits. I curl up next to him, tucking my feet beneath my legs. Tommy sits in an armchair opposite.

“You still smoke?” he asks Brendon, starting to roll a blunt with the supplies on the coffee table.

Brendon nods. “Occasionally,” he says.

“And you, darlin?”

I don’t like Tommy calling me that, but I keep that to myself. “Yeah. Occasionally,” I echo.

Tommy laughs. “She’s funny,” he tells Brendon. “I like her.”

Brendon looks at me in a way that he’s never looked at me. It’s a look out of the corner of his eye, and there’s a tiny smirk upon his lips. The one word I’d use to describe it would be ‘pride’.

Once Tommy has finished, he brings the blunt up to his lips and he lights it. Taking a long drag, he passes it to me. “Ladies first,” he smirks. I can’t help but acknowledge the fact that his sentiment is void considering he took the first hit.

I take a long, slow drag, feeling the smoke flood my insides. As I exhale, I realise how much I’ve missed this. We need to do this more often - Brendon and I.

I pass the blunt to him, and he also takes a hit, and then it ends up in Tommy’s hands again.

“So tell me, where have you been living?” Tommy asks. “Last I knew, your folks moved your whole family out west.”

Brendon nods. “Yeah, that’s right,” he says. “And then a couple of years ago I moved out and went down south by myself.”

“What have you been doing? I mean, like, you must have a job, right?” Tommy asks as he takes another drag.

I look at Brendon and Brendon looks at me and I know we’re doing nothing to quell suspicion. If anything we’re arousing it.

“I’ve been practising as a priest,” he says monotonously.

Tommy laughs and laughs and laughs. “No way! Shut up. You? A priest?!”

When he realises that our faces are blank, he knows we’re serious, and his eyes widen. “Shut the hell up... but you can’t fuck around if you’re a priest...” Again, he remain silent. Tommy looks awestruck. “Holy shit, man. That’s devilish.”

“It’s definitely something,” I smirk and Brendon looks at me and chews on his bottom lip in a way that I know is purposefully done to make me feel flustered.

“So what, you guys got busted?” Tommy questions as he passes me the blunt. I take another long drag, pass it along to Brendon. We’ve got a system going.

“Yeah,” B answers. “Her parents figured it out. So we got the fuck out of there.”

Tommy nods. “Word,” he says. “That’s like some shit straight outta the movies. You guys are badass as fuck.”

“I guess we are,” I smile, tossing my legs across Brendon’s lap before continuing confidently. “What I wanna know is how you guys know each other.”

“I told you,” Brendon begins. “High school-”

“No,” I interject. “No, like, how you really know each other. You guys are close. What’s your history?”

I physically watch Tommy draw into himself. His eyes lose their life, his shoulders hunch. Brendon’s hands clench into fists by his sides and his jaw tightens.

“Forget I asked,” I say quickly, regretting that I ever said anything at all.

“I presume you guys aren’t sticking around for long,” Tommy comments with an edge of bitterness.

“What makes you say that?” Brendon asks.

“Well. I mean, you never do.”

The tension in the air is so thick it could be cut with a knife. The boys stare at one another, like their eyes are having a silent, private conversation. I can tell they have issues to work through - shit from the past that needs to be discussed, and I know I need to give them their space to do that.

“Which way is your room, Tommy?” I ask, and I watch his features wash over with confusion for a split second, so I add, “if it’s still okay for us to crash there tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” he says quickly. “Um. That door there,” he says, pointing.

I nod, and I get up off of the couch.

“You going to bed?” Brendon asks.

I smile at him. He looks sweeter when he’s high. “Yeah, I’m exhausted,” I say, and it’s not exactly a lie. The more I dwell upon the possibility of sleep, the more appealing it becomes.

“Okay,” Brendon replies. “Alright, I’ll be through soon. Don’t wait up, okay?”

I lean down, and I peck him upon the lips. As I pull away, I steal a look at Tommy out of the corner of my eye, but his features are unreadable. I don’t know what I was expecting to see.

“See you in the morning,” I say to them both.

I head into the bedroom. I strip down to my underwear and I sit on the wooden floor with my back pressed against the door. Listening.

I have to listen really hard to make out what they’re saying. They speak in hushed whispers like they’re passing secrets.

“How long can we stay?” Brendon asks. I recognise his voice. I’d recognise it anywhere.

“As long as you need, stupid,” Tommy laughs. The fact that they’re both high probably won’t aid things here.

“I’m serious,” B says. “Don’t you think this is all a little... strange?”

“No,” Tommy answers. “No, I don’t think it’s strange at all.”

“Yeah, but T... the last time we saw each other, we-”

“Shut up,” Tommy cuts him off.

“Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“No. You were drunk.”

“So were you.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t?”

“Stone cold sober.”

There’s a long pause, and then eventually, Brendon, sighing beneath his breath.

“Fuck.”

Another pause. I can tell that they’re both struggling to think of something to say. I’m not surprised when Tommy changes the subject.

“How long have you been with your chick?” he asks.

“Firstly, if she was a chick, she’d lay eggs,” Brendon responds. I cover my mouth as I suppress a giggle. God damnit, I’m so into him.

“Jesus, man,” Tommy laughs. “Here. Have another hit. You’re fucking tense.”

There’s another short period of silence. Then, the glorious sound of Brendon’s laugh comes though, and it’s like all is right in the world again.

“God, this takes me back,” he chuckles.

“That room... do you remember?” Tommy asks.

“Of course I remember,” B answers. “I remember everything.”

“You do?”

“Tommy. I remember everything.”

I hate being on the outside, looking in. I hate not knowing. I demand answers. I’ll ask Brendon first thing tomorrow morning.

Then, I hear them talking, but they lower their voices right down to the point there I can’t make out their words. They’re whispering. Why are they whispering?

Suddenly, Brendon speaks up.

“I, uh... I’m gonna go to bed,” he says.

“B,” Tommy protests.

“No. Don’t,” my boyfriend argues. “That’s enough. You’re high as fuck. Get some sleep, Tommy.”

I hear movement. Quickly, I scramble to my feet and jump into the bed, and I feign sleep. It’s easier that way.

“You always fucking do this,” Tommy spits angrily. A split second later, the door opens and closes and I hear Brendon taking off his clothes and then I feel him slip into bed beside me.

“Gracie darling,” he whispers, running his fingers through my hair. “Are you asleep?”

I pretend like I have been, and I open my eyes slowly and sleepily. “I was,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon soothes. He sounds so gentle. So kind. My heart swells to double its normal size. I am so unbelievably in love with him. I wish I knew what just happened outside. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he urges.

He pulls me into his side, and I cuddle up close to him. Another new city. Another strange bed. But there’s one thing that remains constant.

“Is Tommy okay? Is he going to bed?” I ask. I very nearly ask him what happened just now, but then I’d be giving my own game away.

Brendon sighs. “Tommy... is Tommy. I’ll explain it all to you one day,” he whispers, and then I feel his lips upon my forehead. I smile.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he asks me. There’s so much seriousness behind his words. So much urgency. I’ve never heard him say it like that before.

“Yeah, I know,” I answer, opening my eyes to look into his, just for a moment. “And I love you, too. No matter what.”

He smiles, and his entire body softens. “Sleep,” he coos. “Please, Gracie. Sleep.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I close my eyes, and I sleep.

In the morning, when I wake, Brendon isn’t there.


	18. Boys/Boys/Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello again! An update two days in a row? Unheard of, right?
> 
> No but oh the real, I’ve been waiting to write this chapter for a LONG time, so I couldn’t stop writing. And I love the play on words in the title of this chapter... so... Just a WARNING, this chapter is extremely smutty - perhaps the smuttiest so far. Please don’t judge me. I know I’m an awful sinner. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Your feedback is invaluable. 
> 
> HAPPY SINNING. 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Olivia

I find him on the balcony, a cigarette poised between his lips. He leans his forearms upon the railing and stares out at the grey city. I wish I knew what was going on inside his brain.

“That my t-shirt?” is the first thing he asks me.

I nod. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies and takes a drag of his cigarette. “It looks good on you.”

I lean my back against the metal and fold my arms across my chest. “You wanna tell me what happened last night?”

“Nothing happened last night,” Brendon says, far too quickly for his words to be believable.

I give him a look. It’s my trademark ‘you’re bullshitting’ look, and I know that he knows it.

He sighs. “Back in high school,” Brendon begins, “Tommy was dating this girl. And like, they were together for a long time. And he was super fucking in love with her. But she started getting tired towards like, the middle of Senior Year, and well, Tommy was my best friend, so we did everything together. And naturally, she was there too. And she and I started getting closer. We hung out just the two of us a few times, not to Tommy’s knowledge. And then over spring break, we started fucking. And well, Tommy, he...”

“He found out?” I suggest. “He was pissed?”

“Oh babe, that’s an understatement,” Brendon laughs. “I’ve never seen anybody so mad in my entire life. So that summer, I left. All that stuff about my parents moving out west was bullshit. My parents still live in this city. And so do my brothers. I haven’t been back home since I was eighteen. They don’t want to see me.”

I feel my throat tighten. All this time, I’ve thought I was finished with his story, when really, I’m only on the first page. I know nothing about him. “You can’t be sure of that,” I reassure him, placing my hand on his arm. “Time heals things. Besides, why would they be mad at you? You screwed your best friend’s girlfriend - why is that any of their business?”

“Not now, Gracie,” he whispers. “Shh.”

I can see that he’s now on alert, and I know why. I hear shuffling around inside. Tommy’s awake.

“Just... be careful around him,” Brendon warns me.

“Careful?” I ask, confused. “I thought you said I could trust him.”

“You can. Careful’s... not the word I should have used. Gentle, perhaps. He’s more fragile than he looks,” he sighs.

“Because of you?”

“Because of me.”

Tommy comes out onto the balcony. Brendon stubs out his cigarette.

“You guys want some breakfast?” the scruffy, tall man in the doorway asks, and I nod, even though I’m not hungry at all.

 

***

 

Later that evening, we’re all sat on the couch, high as fuck, watching trash TV, and I realise how much my life has changed in such a short amount of time. If I’d told myself six months ago where I am now, she’d never believe me.

We’ve spent the entire day in Tommy’s apartment. Mid-afternoon, Brendon and I got too touchy on the sofa and he carried me through to the bedroom and fucked me until I couldn’t remember my own name. And then we ordered takeout and sat on the floor with Tommy and ate and drunk and now, Tommy’s opened up the liquor cabinet and he’s pouring us all shots.

It’s cold outside but hot as hell in here, and I don’t think the weed is helping in terms of regulating my core body temperature. I want to get undressed. I don’t give a shit that Tommy’s with us. Hell, maybe it’ll be fun to give him a show. Watch him squirm.

“You always used to be able to drink me under the table,” Tommy says to Brendon as we all down our drinks.

“I bet I still fucking can,” B quips, and he winks at the boy across the other side of the coffee table.

Sure enough, Brendon is out for blood. Every time Tommy gets another drink, so does he and I try my best to keep up with them, but I’m nowhere near as experienced. The combination of the weed and the alcohol has my head spinning, but honestly, I’ve never felt so damn good.

We all end up on the floor, trying to tell stories from our pasts, stumbling and giggling over our words. It’s so hot in this fucking room that I have to strip. I pull Brendon’s t-shirt up and over my head. He sits up.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “Babe, are you-”

“I’m hot,” I interrupt him.

“Damn straight,” Tommy says. Both Brendon and I stare at him for a second. His eyes are clouded over with definite lust. Brendon then looks at me, and I look at him, and he smirks.

I tug off my jeans too, and I smile at the two boys looking at me like I’ve just been ripped straight out of one of their teenage fantasies. The power that I have over them astonishes me.

“Come over here,” I say to Tommy. He’s sat far too far away for my own liking. Of course, he obliges, scooting across the floor to be closer to Brendon and I. I’m risen up onto my knees. My hands are in my hair. I’m so drunk but I don’t even care. I know that whatever happens from here on out will be far too hot for me to ever regret it.

“Here,” Brendon demands, gesturing to his lap, but I press my index finger to his lips.

“I’m making the orders tonight,” I whisper, and I watch his facial expression completely change, and then his palm press itself against his crotch.

“Tommy,” I coo, cupping his face in my hand. “Be a darling and put on some music.”

“Of course,” he sighs. “Anything.”

We’re all of our fucking faces and somehow that just adds to the intimacy of it all. Both of them are so fucking hot. I’m so fucking hot. It’s a dream. A fantasy. Too good to be true.

Gently, I push Brendon down so he’s lying completely flat on the floor, and I hover above him. My crucifix necklace dangles down between us, brushing against Brendon’s lips. I suppress a moan when he closes his eyes and takes it between his teeth.

I feel a hand against my back, and then another on my stomach. Hands roaming across my skin. Tommy. It feels nice. Feels hot, to have another man touching me with my boyfriend lying right there. I turn my head to look at Tommy. He bites his own bottom lip and fuck it, I think. I’m high as hell and I want to kiss him. So I do.

I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and he tastes of hard liquor and cigarettes. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and I let him. He moves his hands up into my hair and I wrap mine around his neck. I don’t want to ever stop kissing him.

I feel Brendon’s hands grip roughly at my waist. “Fuck,” he gets out through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you guys. That’s so fucking hot.”

I pull away for air. I laugh. “Jesus Christ,” I curse, and I stare into Tommy’s fucked our eyes for a moment. He smirks. God damn, I just want to kiss him again.

“You’re both wearing far too many clothes,” I comment, climbing off of Brendon’s body so he can obey me. “Down to your underwear. Both of you. Now.”

They do as I tell them, and the satisfaction that that gives me is second to none.

The next few things happen without words. Our bodies do all the talking. Once they’re undressed, we all end up on our knees, and I, in the middle. Hands roam everywhere. Lips press to my neck, my collarbones, my chest. I’m not sure whose is whose anymore. My head throbs in time with the gentle music in the background - this is definitely just some random Spotify playlist of songs to have sex to but hell, I’m into it.

Brendon, who is behind me, unhooks my bra, and lets it fall down to the floor. Tommy’s hands immediately cup my breasts, and I whine softly, tilting my head back to rest of Brendon’s shoulder. He kisses my neck, leaves his mark there. That only makes me moan harder.

I move my head so that I’m leant back, but still in between their bodies. I push them closer together. “Kiss him,” I tell Brendon. “Go on. Kiss him.”

They’re both so drunk and so high and so fucking horny that I think they’d do anything at this point. When they start making out, I feel a wave of complete euphoria wash over me. It isn’t just a peck to satisfy me - they’re fully making out with one another. Tommy’s hands are knotted in Brendon’s hair. Brendon’s are pressed up against Tommy’s flush chest. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” Tommy whines into Brendon’s mouth. I presume it’s just from the kissing for a moment until I glance down and see that Brendon has his hand shoved down the front of Tommy’s boxers. Holy shit. My brain can’t handle this.

“You like that, hmm?” Brendon gets out through gritted teeth. His lips snake down to Tommy’s neck and he begins to kiss him there. I steal the opportunity to kiss Tommy again, and he persistently whimpers into it whenever Brendon marks him.

My mouth is moving faster than my brain. I’m saying things without even thinking about how they’ll sound first. “I wanna watch you guys fuck,” I spit out. “Is that something you think you can swing?”

Brendon licks his lips. He doesn’t speak, just rearranges the equation. Tommy ends up lying face down against the carpet. “Prep him,” Brendon says to me.

“What?” I ask, confused.

Brendon gets Tommy to raise his ass up in the air. “Take off his boxers and prep him.”

Now I understand. And honestly, with Brendon getting possessive, I don’t need to be told twice. I remove Tommy’s boxers and spread his ass with my hands, slowly pressing my tongue against his hole.

He moans deeply as I work my magic. I can’t lie - I’m anxious. Am I doing it right? Am I even making him feel good? His string of whines and whimpers act as my affirmation. I don’t stop. Not until Brendon tells me to.

I feel two hands on my shoulders, gently pulling me back. “Okay,” Brendon says. His voice is low and lustful. I want him inside of me right fucking now.

Brendon spits upon his own fingers to slick them up, and then he pushes them one-by-one inside of Tommy, leaving intervals of a few minutes in between each one, just to make sure that Tommy can handle it. He works his way up to three.

“B,” Tommy whines. “I’m ready. Please.”

“Go on, baby,” I urge, and for the first time since this all started, I kiss Brendon on the lips. “Fucking ruin him.”

Brendon smirks. “God, you’re such a freak,” he tells me, and he takes off his own underwear, aligning his hard cock up with Tommy’s entrance. He pushes in slowly, and Tommy hisses as he does.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brendon snaps. “You can take it. I know you can take it.”

I watch on as my boyfriend fucks this man who I didn’t even know existed a few days ago, and I can’t get over how fucking hot it all is. I slip one hand down the front of my underwear and rub my clit. I’m absolutely soaked.

Brendon pulls out after a few minutes, and Tommy moans louder than he has been moaning whilst being fucked. “Turn over,” Brendon demands. Tommy complies instantly. He lies upon his back and looks up at Brendon with eyes that burn with something that I can’t quite place.

Brendon wastes no time in resuming his original position, fucking hard and deep into the taller man. “Gracie,” he says, and when he says that, I know I’d follow him to the end of the world. “Sit on his face.”

“Fuck,” Tommy and I say in unison.

I slide my underwear down and off my legs and I do as Brendon asks me to. I sit on Tommy’s face. And the second that I do, I gasp at the feeling of his tongue against me.

“Sh-shit,” I hiss, my hands instinctively reaching up into Tommy’s hair, tugging upon it.

My entire body is in overdrive. After only a few minutes, I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle. And I know that Tommy is an absolute wreck beneath me, consistently moaning against my clit.

I make the decision to climb off of him. I sit back and watch as Brendon fucks him, my own hand slowly pleasuring myself, just to keep me going. Brendon has one hand wrapped around Tommy’s cock. He leans forward so that he’s still fucking into the boy beneath him, but so their bodies are pressed flush against one another, and he presses his lips to Tommy’s ear. Inaudibly, I hear him whisper something. I’m too far gone to make it out.

“Brendon,” Tommy begs. “Please. Don’t...”

Brendon continues to jerk the other man’s cock. He must keep whispering sweet nothings into Tommy’s ear because within thirty seconds, Tommy is spilling all over his own chest and across Brendon’s hand, and quite honestly, it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

As Tommy rides out his high, Brendon kisses him. He kisses him in the same way he kisses me - with the heat of a thousand suns. Like he’ll never be able to kiss anybody else ever again. I’m not jealous, though. I kind of encourage it. In this moment, at least. Maybe I’ll look back with bitterness and envy when I’m sober.

Then, Brendon moves over to me. “C’mere, gorgeous,” he hums, tugging me into his arms. We both giggle as we roll onto the floor, kissing and smiling and letting our hands roam all over one another. God, we’re so fucking in love.

He doesn’t need to give me any kind of warning when he pushes inside of me. I sigh deeply and wrap my legs around his waist to anchor him, pulling him in closer. He kisses my neck,my jaw, my cheeks, my lips. Then, he whispers against my ear, just as he had done with Tommy.

“It’s you,” he tells me. “It’s always going to be you.”

My heart tightens in my chest. I’m so close. “I know,” I choke out quietly.

“No,” Brendon insists. “No, I don’t think you do. But I mean it. It’s always been you. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay. Kiss me,” I beg. “Please, please, just... kiss me.”

He does. Of course he does. And whilst he’s kissing me, I come, my entire body shaking with the force of it. I barely register when he pulls out to do the same, shooting his load across my chest and stomach.

When we fall, we fall together, without words or explanations. The sounds of three people’s panting breaths fill the air, along with the thrum of the music still softly playing from the speakers. I can barely see, but I find Tommy, and I pull him close. I end up sandwiched between them, feeling warm and content and dizzy with euphoria.

All three of us pass out from exhaustion within minutes, and we lie there, on Tommy’s living room floor, a tangle of messy, sweaty, loving limbs and I swear, throughout my entire life, I have never felt higher than I do right fucking now.


	19. The Tale Of Two Wide Eyed Boys With Curious Hearts, And Where It All Went Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys.
> 
> This chapter is a little different to the rest of them, but I hope you’ll enjoy it just the same. Personally, I regard this chapter as some of my best work EVER, not just in this fic, but as a writer in general, so I really, really hope you like it. 
> 
> Feedback on this chapter would mean everything to me. I hope it makes you as emotional as it made me. Trust me kids, this one is a fucking RIDE. 
> 
> As always, I love your support and enthusiasm for this story. I couldn’t ask for lovelier readers. 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Olivia

Brendon Urie and Tommy Foxfield met when they were both wide-eyed fourteen-year-old boys with confused minds and curious hearts. The latter was the new kid at school, having moved from across the country with his parents and little sister that spring. He was soft and shy and quiet and everything that his former was not. In any other world, they never would have happened. But in this universe, they seemed to find the loophole, and they were undeniably and catastrophically drawn to one another, with the most devastating of consequences. From that first timid “hello” from across the cafeteria table, their lives were bound to one another, and promised to never be the same again. 

Over that relentless summer of 2006, an unbreakable friendship blossomed. Wherever Brendon went, Tommy was right behind. They truly were the definition of inseparable. It was almost as if they became a part of one another in such a way that it was impossible for them to function individually. When high school started that fall, Tommy and Brendon went in with their heads held high and stuffed with dreams. Together, they were kings. Nothing and nobody could touch them.

Two weeks into the first semester, Brendon already had a girlfriend - a relationship that lasted all of a month, but established him as the one to watch in the innocent freshman class who were all still trying to shake off that new car smell. He was boisterous and loud and funny. The class clown. Everybody adored him, and he knew it. The power of teenage adoration was dangerous and his new-found popularity went straight to his head. Tommy, however, remained his best friend, through thick and thin, but as Brendon’s shadow grew, Tommy ended up living more and more within it until he was virtually housebound. A slave to his master.

Freshman Year ended and Sophomore Year began. The two boys remained loyal to one another, like lions, and Brendon became fiercely protective of his friend with whom he was far too close for the word ‘friend’ to be applicable to the situation. When some of the older boys discovered that Tommy’s father was a deadbeat and his mother was high more often than she was sober, they wasted no time in letting Tommy know that this was natural selection, and how could he possibly ever amount to anything important with parents like that? Similarly, Brendon wasted no time in showing them all what a powerful left hook he had for such a scrawny boy. He escaped practically unscathed. His opponents weren’t so fortunate. Tommy never let him live it down, insisting he could fight his own battles - that he didn’t need protecting, and he certainly didn’t need saving. Brendon was deaf to it all. To him, it was chivalry. To the outside eye, it was egotistical.

Their first kiss was a drunken joke. They were both sat up on Brendon’s roof one April night during the spring break of Junior Year, with a bottle of red wine stolen from the alcohol cupboard. Tommy was concerned that it was one of Brendon’s dad’s fancy bottles - the ones he collected from France that were about sixty years old - but Brendon, who had had a fight with his dad the day previously over something minuscule, declared that he couldn’t give a shit.

As the two of them became progressively more pissed, they started opening up, in ways that they never had before, despite being best friends. They talked about girls, and they talked about boys, and Brendon was the first to admit that boys were hot, which had Tommy sweating under his collar.

“Have you ever thought about kissing one?” Tommy bravely asked, his heart a hammer in his chest.

“What? A boy?” Brendon replied, taking another swig of wine straight from the bottle.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. Tommy had thought about kissing boys a lot. Tommy had thought about kissing one particular boy far too often for his own good.

“Course I have,” Brendon said brashly, smirking, like the thought alone was a medal. Tommy wished he had that same daring confidence, that ability to brandish his sexuality like a sword.

“But you’ve never actually done it,” Tommy breathed.

Brendon looked at him with furrowed eyebrows but an undeniable hopeful glint in his eye. “Are you suggesting something, T?” he asked.

Tommy so badly wanted to tell his best friend the truth in that moment, but he was paralysed - frozen with the fear of rejection. He felt sweat bead upon his forehead when Brendon edged a little closer to him.

“Don’t fucking freak out, yeah?” Brendon said before he gently and reassuringly placed his palms against his best friend’s cheeks, kissing him with all the lightness and uncertainty of a first kiss.

The moment that Brendon kissed him, Tommy felt reborn. All of the nights spent with his head in the clouds, wishing, wanting and wondering became possible the second that their lips met. When Brendon broke away, Tommy sighed, and kept his eyes closed for far too long afterwards, afraid that if he opened them, it would all have been a dream.

“Open your fucking eyes, you gaylord,” Brendon chuckled, and when Tommy did, he was so relieved to find Brendon smiling back at him.

Things began slowly. It was the brush of a hand here, or the game of footsie under the table there, and when the curtain fell on their penultimate year of high school, the two boys both knew that ‘just friends’ wasn’t a tagline that was applicable to them anymore, though neither of them would ever say it aloud.

It was the summer of ‘09 when things changed. It was the summer of ‘09 when Brendon decided to give the middle finger to ‘just friends’ - when he decided to throw ‘just friends’ head first out of a third-storey window. It was the heady, alcohol fuelled confidence of that transition into the biggest fish in the pond. It was the inflated ego that was fit to burst. Tommy adored him. Tommy would do anything for him. And Brendon told himself that he would do anything for Tommy, too, and a small part of him believed it for a little while.

They first fucked on a humid July afternoon, with Brendon’s parents out of town for the weekend, and a free house and nothing to do. They’d fooled around before. They’d gotten to third base, even. But never this. Brendon, the bravest, boldest, brashest kid in school, had never managed to pluck up the courage to do this.

But there Tommy was, undoubtedly his, forevermore, and hell, how could he not? Just once. He did want to, deep down, but he was scared, and he was young, and he was vulnerable. And he knew, that if they went through with this, they could never, ever go back.

As expected, it was awkward and there was a lot of fumbling around and nervous hands that didn’t know where to go. But ultimately, it was special and meaningful and Brendon knew as soon as it was over that he would never, ever forget it. And as Tommy slept peacefully, curled into his side, his head on Brendon’s chest, it was the first time he admitted to himself that he was in love with this boy. That was the scariest part of all. He was in love. With another boy. And none of it made sense in his confused, 17-year-old brain, because he loved girls too. He’d slept with many girls, and he’d enjoyed it, but here he was, with his best friend curled up in his arms, and he had never wanted to protect anybody so much in his entire God damn life.

Of course, it didn’t end up being a ‘one time only’ thing. That was never going to be a possibility. In the end, that summer ended up being the best summer of Brendon’s entire life. It was filled with passionate kisses and late night wishes and oh the sex. The sex was fucking glorious.

The insistence of a label was never once brought up. Both of them seemed to just accept that this was what they were. They fucked, and they cared deeply for one another, but not once was the ‘b’ word dropped from either of their lips. Brendon always believed that Tommy felt exactly the same way about the entire charade as he did. It was all just a bit of fun, wasn’t it? That’s all it was ever going to be.

That was until Senior Year began, of course, and then things got complex. Brendon had his parents “sucking his fucking dick” over Finals, or so he said. They wouldn’t let him rest. It was straight A’s or nothing. Of course, this wasn’t an issue. Not only was Brendon funny and charismatic, he was also a fucking genius. He sailed through Finals week with his eyes closed. Tommy, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. And whilst Brendon consistently promised him that his worth wasn’t determined by a couple of letters on a grade sheet, Tommy could never believe him. Getting good marks in school would be his way out. Without decent grades, he would never get out of this hellhole. And he needed to get out more than he needed oxygen to breathe. His family home, if home was even the right word, was suffocating him.

Tommy often brought up the future. He wanted to know where they would go, what they would do, and how they would make things work. Brendon would fill his head with fancy ideas which deep down, he had no intentions of fulfilling. They sounded fun up on the surface, but if he was truly honest with himself, he had his future all planned out. He was going to go to college and get a great job in some fucking incredibly city and Tommy would just... be there. Tommy would always be there. But he was so wrapped up in his own head, and his own dreams, that he never gave a thought towards what Tommy would be doing whilst he was out in the big wide world chasing the sun.

Finals were rough. Brendon spent most nights comforting Tommy after particularly bad exams. The latter was insistent that he’d fucked up everything - he’d ruined their chances of being happy together. Brendon tried his utmost hardest to reassure him that it was all bullshit, and that was the week that he realised that seeing Tommy cry was the worst possible thing in the entire world. He would do absolutely anything if it meant he never had to see his love so devastatingly upset ever again.

Brendon graduated Valedictorian, although nobody had ever expected anything different. His speech was one for the history books. It made people laugh, and it made them cry, and if Tommy had a dollar for every time Brendon stole a fleeting glance across to his seat whilst speaking - just to look into his eyes and remind him that even when he was addressing an entire arena full of people, he only had eyes for him - then he’d be a very, very rich man.

During the after-party, which was the night to end all nights, everybody commented on how Tommy and Brendon’s friendship really had surprised them all. They’d never once argued, never once spent a day apart. Their friendship really did defy all odds, set new records, and broke endless boundaries. Every time Brendon or Tommy heard the word ‘friendship’, they would smile at one another. It was the kind of smile that spoke a million words.

That night, high on the energy of the party and the slight buzz of champagne, two giggling teenage boys stumbled up to bed, and collapsed on one another. They kissed, and they laughed, and eventually, they made love. Brendon swore to himself that in that moment, he was invincible. Untouchable. He was a God damn king.

After all this time, not once, had either of them uttered those three words. Not one time. Perhaps that was a remarkable achievement. Or perhaps it was just sad. Here they were, having gone through everything, and still, neither one of them could find the bravery in their hearts to say it - to say what they’d both felt all along.

It was always going to be Brendon who said it first. Tommy would have waited forever. His anxiety and the pressure for it all to go perfectly overwhelmed him. He could never take that first leap. He would never have the courage. When Brendon did say it, his eyes were closed, and his forehead was pressed against the other boy’s, and their lips were millimetres apart. Less than a millisecond after Brendon had uttered it, Tommy followed suit, like those three words had been poised on the tip of his tongue for five God damn years, and finally, finally, he was granted the permission to say them.

Once those words were out. they were out, and really, it shouldn’t have mattered to Brendon as much as it did, because he had consistently demonstrated through his actions the amount of love that he held in his heart for Tommy, and Tommy had done the same. But those words, those three words burned like acid upon Brendon’s tongue for hours after he had said them. He couldn’t sleep at all. He watched Tommy sleep with tears stinging his eyes. Finally, it hit him like a bullet. School was over and now their lives began. In a hazy, drunken, bleary eyed state, Brendon had once told Tommy that he couldn’t wait to spend his entire life with him, and now those words came back to haunt him like a thousand ghosts. Is that truly what he wanted? He loved Tommy with absolutely everything that he had, but he doubted whether he was ready for this, for the commitment of such a relationship. This was never how he had seen his life turning out. The thought of leaving Tommy didn’t bear thinking about, but the thought of staying was worse. Anxiety bubbled inside of him the whole night long. He felt sick. He couldn’t do this. That was why he hadn’t ever said those words until tonight. He’d truly believed his heart had been in it all along, but this, this relationship, this love, had never been his dream. He wasn’t entirely sure what his dream was, but he knew it wasn’t here. with Tommy. It was out there, somewhere in the world, which he so desperately wanted to explore.

It was 5 a.m. when he took flight. He slipped out of bed silently, dressed plainly, and quietly stuffed a backpack full of essentials, including his debit card which stored eighteen years worth of savings. He was out of here. He was gone. This wasn’t what was meant to be. Scribbling down a note for his parents who slept just down the hallway, he fought back the tears in his eyes. In shaky handwriting, it read:

 

I’ve had to go. Don’t know if I’ll ever be back.

Please don’t worry or call the police. I’m going to be okay,

this is what I need to do. This is for the best.

Don’t try and find me. Let me find myself. Somewhere. Out there.

Please tell Tommy that I am so, so sorry.

Love,

your B.

 

Tossing his backpack over his shoulder, Brendon took one last look at the boy sleeping in his bed and the tears began to fall. A million memories began to play in his head. Footsie under the library tables. Drinking Brendon’s dad’s liquor in the basement. Sex in the backseat. Tommy’s beautiful, beautiful laugh.

Crossing over to the bed, Brendon leant down and kissed Tommy’s forehead.

“Please, one day, forgive me,” he choked through tears, running his hand gently through his sleeping love’s hair one last time. He had to go now, or he never would.

He turned and he didn’t look back. He walked down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of the front door, into the summer morning sunrise, the light blinding him. Taking a deep breath, he climbed into his car and he began to drive, to God knows where. Anywhere but here.

By the time his parents awoke a few hours later, to the note on the bedside table scrawled in familiar handwriting, he would be miles away, quite unsure of where he was running to, but running all the same.


	20. (Northern) Downpour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, angels! Welcome back. I can’t quite believe I’m on Chapter 20 of this fic and we’re almost at 50,000 words. That’s madness! And support is growing every single day, which just makes my heart swell. You guys have no idea how much your comments mean to me. 
> 
> This chapter is one that I’ve been planning ever since this fic began, so I really hope you enjoy it. Honestly, it’s just pure love, and it makes me so happy. 
> 
> Thank you all again for your continued support. It means everything to me. 
> 
> Lots of love,   
> Olivia

I’m stood on the liquor aisle of a run-down gas station, staring at bottles with glazed over eyes. I can feel the eyes of the store clerk on me as I browse but I don’t look up. I let my long hair fall across the side of my face that is closest to him, to protect my identity.

Tommy and Brendon are in the car just outside. It’s a dare - to see if I have the balls. I look about twelve so if I take a bottle of vodka up to the cashier, naturally, I’ll get asked for ID. They’ve challenged me to steal it, and me being the idiot I am, said yes.

But now that I’m inside, there’s no way I can pull this off successfully. The worker’s eyes are glued to me. He knows I’m sketchy. Maybe I should just leave empty-handed. The boys won’t do or say anything if I explain the situation.

“Grace?” a female voice says from behind me. I very nearly turn to address it, instinctively, but I stop myself. Responding to my name would be fatal.

“Grace Monroe?” she asks again and when I swallow, it feels like razors in my throat. I turn around with furrowed eyebrows.

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” I ask, playing up my falsified confusion.

“Yeah!” the girl replies enthusiastically. She’s dressed exactly as her voice suggests she would be, in denim cut-offs and a white lacy crop top, all tan skin and long blonde hair. “Come on, don’t cha remember me? It’s Alyssa. We sat next to each other in AP Math...” she smiles awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I tell her. The face, of course, is familiar to me, but I have to pretend that I’ve never seen her before in my life.

“Oh,” the girl backtracks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just... I could have sworn...” she laughs a light, lilted laugh that I’ve heard many a time. “You just look so like a girl I used to go to school with. Like, crazy similar.”

I force a little laugh, my heart pounding. She just keeps on talking, barely pausing for breath, so nothing’s changed there.

“Although, between you and me, I don’t think you could be her because she’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere.” She doesn’t even pause to allow me to react. She just keeps going. “My mom is friends with her mom and apparently, she started screwing around with their priest and the two of them have run away together. How scandalous is that?”

She seems amused, like this is all some big game, or the plot of a movie, and not my fucking life - not that I regret anything. Leaving with Brendon was the best thing I have ever done.

“We just met,” I say, smiling awkwardly. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Oh, I just... I was just saying...” she responds, stumbling over her words.

“Yeah? Well maybe you should stop and think because you ‘just say’ things in the future,” I say bitterly. “You’ve got no idea of her situation and to assume that the guy’s a murderer... that’s sick. You don’t know shit about them.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” Alyssa begins as I head to leave.

“Oh, and Alyssa?” I smirk, my hand upon the glass door. “I do remember you. You thought I didn’t notice but you always stole my math answers over my shoulder and I let you do it because I felt sorry for you. Oh, and your boyfriend once told me that you spit every time you suck him off, whereas right now, I’m gonna go out there, drive somewhere discreet, and blow those two ridiculously gorgeous men,” I point out Brendon’s car to her, “until they can’t remember their first Goddamn names, so I think we know who the real winner is here, don’t we?”

I shove the door so hard that it smacks against the wall of the store, and I leave Alyssa stood there, dumbfounded.

“What were you just...” Brendon begins as I jump into the car, a massive shit-eating grin plastered across my face. Tommy’s in the backseat

“Drive, just... fucking drive!” I say, suppressing laughter. I feel on top of the world.

The tyres squeal and gravel scatters about beneath our tyres as we speed off down the deserted highway. Brendon rolls back the top, and the wind is in our hair and the music from the stereo is blaring. All three of us are screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs. I can’t help but grab Brendon’s face and attack him with kisses as he drives, trying desperately to keep his eyes on the road.

I ask him to pull over, because I’m true to my word, and on the side of a quiet desert road, I work my magic upon the both of them. The hottest part is looking up from underneath my eyelashes as I alternate between the two of them to see them making out, hands in one another’s hair, never pausing for breath.

When they both come, I make a point of swallowing everything that they both give me and I sit back in my chair after it’s over with swollen lips, but the proudest fucking smile upon my face.

When Brendon starts driving again, I curl up in the front seat. Tommy gives me his jacket and it’s big enough to use as a blanket. As it starts getting darker and colder, Brendon puts the roof back over. I wonder how long we can make this work. We’ve been with Tommy for just over a week now. The morning after our threesome, Brendon and I went back to the strip of nightclubs,which was hauntingly eerie during the daytime, and were pleasantly surprised to find his car completely untouched after forty two hours of being left unoccupied. We them drove over to our hotel, collected all of our belongings, checked out, and have been staying with Tommy ever since.

It’s been a week full of sex and booze and weed. We’ve barely left Tommy’s apartment. The boy in question has grown so much on me. He’s kind and gentle and he treats me just as well as Brendon does. Kissing him is like a religious experience. Sometimes, I catch myself, and I cannot believe I am lucky enough to have not one, but two beautiful men who are absolutely devoted to me. I’m not fucking around when I say I can’t picture a life without either of them.

I come to with lips pressing themselves delicately all over my face - my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose. Brendon’s whispering sweet nothings into my ear, but my half-asleep hazy brain can’t hold onto most of them. It’s like trying to hold onto water, or dreams. As I become more coherent, I can make out what he’s saying.

“Gracie, darling,” he says, and I can hear the smile upon his lips. “Tommy’s asleep. Come on. Let’s go on an adventure.”

I take his hand and sleepily, I clamber out of the car. I stumble haphazardly side-by-side with him, rubbing at my tired eyes. When I fully awaken, I realise that it’s early morning, because the sun is rising, and the entire sky is a burnt orange. I pause for a moment, just to take it all in.

“What?” Brendon asks when I stop. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “This world is just... so beautiful.”

He looks at me like he can’t quite believe that I’m real. I know that’s what it is, because it’s how I look at him every damn day.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand for me. My fingers slot in between his perfectly, and we walk and walk to God knows where.

We’re in the middle of endless fields. How we’ve ended up here, I have no idea. I wonder how long Brendon had been driving. We walk through open meadows and then through sheltered, forest areas, and we talk the entire while. He wants to know more about him, so I tell him. I ask about him too, and he tells me some things, but I can tell he’s also holding a lot back. That’s okay. He’s just not ready. And that’s honestly okay - we have all the time in the world to get to know one another.

We’re walking through some woodland, and we break out into a clearing, only to realise that we’re stood at the very edge of the most beautiful lavender field I have ever seen. I know Brendon sees the way that my eyes light up, and he laughs. “You’re a real nature lover, aren’t you?” he comments.

“How can you not be?” I say, looking out at the gorgeous flowers instead of at him. I can’t take my eyes off of them. “Nature is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

I don’t notice that whilst I’m looking at the flowers, Brendon is looking at me. “Yeah,” he sighs, “the most beautiful thing in the world...”

I hear tiny little pitter pats upon the canopy of leaves above our head, and then the very distant rumble of thunder.

Excitedly, like a child on Christmas Day, I look at Brendon with my mouth hanging wide open. “Was that-”

He beams at me, equally joyful. His smile cures everything.

One moment, there’s no rain, and the thing we know, it’s everywhere. It’s pouring, unrelenting in its plight. The sky is still a gorgeous orange, bathing everything in its light. Under these trees, we’re safe and dry, but from the very beginning, mine and Brendon’s relationship has been anything but safe. Smirking, I hold my hand out, fingers outstretched, palm up. He doesn’t hesitate in giving me his.

“On the count of three?” I suggest, holding back a laugh.

“One,” he begins.

“Two...” I add.

And together, “three!”

The moment the rain hits me, it feels like pure euphoria. I squeal excitedly, pulling him by the hand through the beautiful lilac flowers. My clothes soak through in about a minute. I can’t even out into words how magical this feels - it’s like something straight out of a movie. Both of us are laughing and screaming at the sky, for no reason other than because we can.

He wraps his arms around my waist and all of a sudden, my feet are off of the ground as he spins me, round and round and round. I throw my arms around his neck and without any fear or hesitation, I crash my lips against his and I kiss him with every ounce of passion that I can muster. I kiss him messily and happily and my God, I have never, ever been as in love with him as I am in this very moment. He is everything. He is part of me.

We’re both soaked through. I tug on his drenched locks as we kiss. His hands press themselves harshly into my back. So this is what it feels like, I think to myself, to be so completely and undeniably in love with another human being. It is the most consuming, awe-inspiring, wonderful feeling in the world.

Next thing I know, I’m down on the ground, lying amongst the lavender flowers, and he’s on top of me, kissing me, loving me. I’m so fucking breathless. My hands roam all over his wet body. The rain continues to pour down onto the both of us, and the morning sun drenches us in light. All that I can hear is the hammer of hard, unrelenting rain and our strangled breaths.

The moment I feel him pressed up against my thigh, my eyes widen, and he looks at me like a puppy. “Yes? Or no?” he asks simply.

“Yes,” I beg. “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”

I tug his wet t-shirt up and over his head. He has trouble pulling my soaked jeans down and off my legs, and giggling, the two of us manage eventually, together.

He kisses me and laughs into it. “You fucking beautiful girl,” he sighs. I need him now more than ever.

There’s so much skin and so much heat and so much rain. He wrestles his wet jeans down to his knees and pushes into me slowly. I whine, pulling his body closer. I always, always need him closer. I need to kiss him, so I do, and I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him as he slowly makes love to me, the rain beating down upon our bodies. I’m so in love. So in love. So in love.

He goes slow and deep. My heart throbs in time with his movements. I gasp and sigh and grip at his hair and his skin and anything else that my hands can reach. I can’t get enough of him. I’ll never get enough of him.

I can hear from the way his breaths become ragged that he’s close. I pull his face down and whisper against the shell of his ear. “Come inside of me,” I beg.

“But darling, you-” he begins, but I don’t give him a chance to finish.

“I don’t care,” I insist. “Please. I need you to.”

When he does, I whimper and come with him. I hold him so close to me. I never, ever want to be apart from him ever again in my life. He’s my entire fucking world.

When he eventually pulls out, he slumps to the side and lies down beside me in the flowers, and he pulls me into his arms and he holds me so tightly that I think my heart may burst.

“I’m so unbelievably in love with you,” he whispers into my ear.

“Ditto,” I murmur, because it’s all I can manage.

He kisses my forehead and I close my eyes and we both lie there wrapped up in one another’s embrace until the rain stops.


	21. The Irish Priest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well good evening (or morning, or afternoon, depending on where you are) to you lovely bunch of people. 
> 
> I’ll admit now, when I began to write this chapter, I had a bit of a block, and I didn’t really know how to get across everything that I wanted to say. But as always, your unwavering support helped me through and this ended up being one of the longest chapters in this fic so far because I just couldn’t stop writing!
> 
> I hope you guys love this one. You get to meet one of my favourite characters in the entire story and also learn a lot more about Brendon’s past, which is always exciting.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments below! Please know what whilst I don’r get time to reply to them all, I read every single one.
> 
> All my love to you,   
> Olivia

When Brendon fell, he fell hard. His head was a cacophony of sound, and a jumbled mixture of blazing determination, gut-gnawing regret and unimaginable despair. He’d thought he was prepared for this - for life as a lone wolf - but his head had always been stuffed full with impossible dreams, and there had never been any room for common sense to breathe. This was all such a terrible idea. For the first week, Brendon had slept in his car, and almost every single night, he had cried himself to sleep. 

He was certain that his family hated him, so even if he wanted to go back, he couldn’t. He spent countless hours thinking about them, and about the little things that he no longer had. He missed his mother coming home from work as he and his siblings were all heading out to school, and how they would all make a point of kissing her on the cheek, one-by-one, as she headed up to bed to sleep the day away before heading out that night again for another shift. He missed braiding Emily, Sophie and Jenny’s hair before school. He missed their laughter. He missed his older brother’s scolding and patronising remarks whenever he bunked school or came home from the skate park with bloodied knees - the comments that irritated him at the time, but deep down, he always knew were made out of love.

Most of all, he missed Tommy, and he wished on every star and eyelash that the boy didn’t hate him. Brendon still loved him with his entire heart, and wanted nothing more than his happiness, but that relationship had been stifling him, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d been afraid. Towards the end, he’d been so frightened of becoming trapped, because Tommy was safe, and he gravitated toward safe situations, whilst Brendon favoured the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline rush that came along with doing things that he knew he shouldn’t. He knew, in his heart, that he couldn’t give Tommy the life that he’d dreamed of, and he’d got out a split-second before things became too serious for him to get out at all. Should he have felt guilty for that?

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but there was two things he was absolutely certain of: the first being that he was far, far away from home. The second was that he was completely and utterly alone. He also knew for a fact that sleeping in his car could not be a permanent arrangement. With his money rapidly running out, he needed to find a job, and fast. And then, a place to call his own.

In his head, it all seemed so simple, but that was the way Brendon’s brain operated. Everything seemed easy enough to him until he tried to set it in motion, and that’s when his troubles always began. So here he was, eighteen, and dreadfully lonely, but somehow feeling more alive than ever.

He wandered for a while, and between food and gas, his savings dwindled down over the course of a month or so. It was funny how quickly money disappeared when it was only going out and not coming back in again, and when Brendon realised he had to completely support himself. He wasn’t ready for this in the slightest. He was an adult, but still a child. All he wanted was a hug from his mom.

He was driving one afternoon, running on very little gas, an empty stomach, and a heavy heart. The sun was relentless, beating down upon his little car, transforming the vehicle into a mobile oven. He had no specific place that he wanted to visit. As of late, he’d been bouncing around from town to town, seeing as much of his little corner of the world as he could with such limited resources. This particular town was very quiet and small, but it was sweet, and truly, Brendon could see himself settling one day in a town like this. One day.

He was feeling particularly low that afternoon. He was missing his family. He was missing Tommy. He was feeling like he’d make the biggest mistake of his entire life in leaving, and that if he’d just worked through his cowardice and stayed, he could have been happy right now. He felt desperate, and confused, and like he had nowhere to turn. He’d been completely on his own for weeks now. He just wanted somebody, anybody, to talk to.

That was when he saw the church for the first time - it was quaint, with a big gravel parking lot just outside. Flowers grew in the gardens out the front. In the summer sun, it looked like something out of a storybook. He parked his car and just sat there for a moment, hating how much he felt like he needed to cry.

His parents had always been quite religious - not strictly so - it wasn’t the end of the world if they missed church one Sunday, but they did attend most weeks. Brendon, of course, out of respect, had gone along with them, along with all his siblings. He wasn’t too sure what he believed in. He did find comfort in the idea of an omniscient being, who oversaw everything, all of the good, the bad, and the ugly in the world, but he figured that was probably all it was - comfort. Sitting here in his car now, though, he had never felt the pull of God more. It was like he felt compelled to enter that church and just sit there a while. Perhaps he could pray. Or perhaps he could just talk and feel like somebody was listening.

He was surprised to find the doors unlocked. He wasn’t entirely sure that he should be doing this. Was he even allowed? Was there anybody around who was going to stop him? He wasn’t sure that he could deal with any confrontation right now. He was pretty certain that if he did, he would burst into tears.

The church was empty and very, very quiet. Brendon could hear the thump of his own heart inside his chest as he slowly but surely approached the altar. He definitely didn’t consider himself a spiritual person, but here in this moment, he was flooded with a sense of purpose and fulfilment. There was something very powerful about a church, in all its majestic beauty. At the front of the aisle, he dropped to his knees, and he hung his head and closed his eyes.

He needed help. He needed guidance. He needed a fucking sign. He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. He wasn’t well versed in this.

He decided that if there was a God, he could say everything he wanted to in his head and He would hear it. So that’s exactly what he did. Of course, he heard nothing back. He didn’t even feel any different. This was all bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He should have just got up and gone home. His family would forgive him eventually. But alas, his pride would never allow him to do such a thing.

“Son?” a voice said from a few feet behind him, startling Brendon out of his reverie.

The young boy swung around, startled and frightened and wide-eyed.

In the aisle, approaching him, stood a priest, an older man, with kind eyes, a dark beard, and very little hair atop his head. He was clad in white robes, and a large wooden crucifix around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon began quickly, like a disgraced schoolboy. “I’m s-so sorry, I just- I thought-”

The priest slowly and gently raised his hand and the power that that had over Brendon surprised him. He closed his mouth and he stopped trembling. He wasn’t frightened by this man. He had such a calming presence, that made Brendon feel safe.

“You don’t need to apologise for confiding in the Lord,” the priest said, and Brendon could now hear his thick, deep, Irish accent coming through.

“I don’t usually, I...” Brendon began, but words were failing him.

The priest came closer. “What’s your name, son?” he asked softly.

“Brendon,” he answered.

The priest came and knelt down in front of the frightened teenager. Brendon felt his bottom lip begin to shake. “I just felt so lost,” he explained. “I needed somewhere to come and just... be at peace. I needed to talk. I needed to tell somebody. I needed-”

Gently, the priest lay a hand upon Brendon’s knee. He didn’t have to say anything. Brendon felt his power radiating through his touch. This man has been sent by God to comfort him in his hour of need, so he broke. Something inside of him just... broke. He began to sob, four weeks of pent up tears spilling forth from his tired eyes.

The priest held him, and Brendon allowed it. He cried until his throat was raw. He cried until his eyes stung. He cried and he cried and he cried. He had felt so scared and alone up until this moment, and now he felt like he had a place to call his own. Finally.

Eventually, he calmed himself. He pulled out of the older man’s warm embrace and he wiped at his eyes.

“How do you feel?” the Irish priest asked him.

“Better,” a broken Brendon choked out, his eyes red-rimmed and his throat feeling like he’d swallowed sandpaper.

“Did you come alone?” he’s asked.

He nodded in response. “Yeah, I... I left home. About a month ago. I needed to get out.”

The priest’s face hardened. “Were you being hurt?” he asks sternly.

“N-no!” Brendon insisted. “No, nothing like that. I just needed to be on my own for a while. But now I’m out of money and I have no job and no place and I’ve been sleeping in my car for the past month and I-”

“Stand,” the priest said. So he did. “Come with me,” he said. So he did.

The older man led Brendon through the back of the church, across a small courtyard, to a cottage-like house. Brendon looked at it and gulped. Perhaps he should have had a bad feeling about this, but God had led him to this man - he truly believed that - and he was a cynical boy, but in this moment, he had no worries, no reservations. He felt completely and utterly safe.

“Father,” Brendon said, “what can I call you?”

The priest smiled and for the first time in almost a month, Brendon smiles too. “Father McGregor,” he said.

“Irish?” Brendon asked.

Father McGregor nodded. “Yes. I’ve only been living here in the States five years. You’re more familiar with the place than I am. Shall we go in?”

Brendon laughed, and he agreed.

Father McGregor asked him if he liked tea and Brendon said yes, he loved tea. He left out the fact that his mother always used to make him a cup whenever he couldn’t sleep. His heart still ached with how much he missed her.

The two of them sat opposite one another on the two adjacent couches and they talked for hours. Brendon told Father McGregor everything, his entire story falling off of his tongue against his will. He even told the man about Tommy, and not once did the priest bat an eyelid. He explained how he had to leave in order to find himself, but along the way, he’d become more lost than ever. The priest’s features softened when the boy told him that.

“How old are you, son?” he asked Brendon.

“I’m eighteen.”

Father McGregor sighed. “When I was your age, I lost myself too. I didn’t know who I wanted to be, or where I wanted to go. And then do you know what happened?”

Brendon sipped his tea and shook his head.

“I found God,” Father McGregor told him. “And I became a deacon, and then I went away to school and became a priest, and I haven’t regretted a single moment of it, because I have had the best life, full of love and compassion and understanding, and I’ve been able to spread that to to others.”

Brendon grimaced. “Father,” he began. “Do you think I’m an awful person because of what I did to my friend?”

Father McGregor shook his head. “No, Brendon,” he said. “I just think you’re human.”

Brendon smiled. He glanced out of the window. The sun was beginning to set. “I need to get back on the road,” he sighed.

“Why?” asked the priest.

That was a loaded question, and now that Brendon was hearing it, he wasn’t too sure what his answer should be. “I... I don’t know...” he said, his own eyebrows furrowing.

“Brendon,” Father began. “You remind me of me when I was your age. What you went through this afternoon... I would call that your awakening. Do you feel closer to God?”

The teenager nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then why don’t you stay? Why would you leave when being in the presence of God has helped you begin your journey to finding out who you are?”

Brendon thought long and hard about that. Was this really his calling? The church? Priesthood? He had only just met this man and yes, after the chat that they had been having for the past few hours, Brendon could safely say he trusted him. He was a man of God. And if he was being truly honest with himself, the thought of staying somewhere safe and dry, potentially sleeping in an actual bed instead of his backseat, was incredibly appealing, he still didn’t know whether he should stay.

“I’m not sure,” Brendon answered truthfully.

The priest nodded. “Brendon,” he said seriously, “you have to do what your heart tells you to do. I have a spare room, with a spare bed. If you’d like, this can be your home. The church. I can train you up to be a deacon. And if you feel like this is your chosen path, we can get you enrolled into seminary school one day.”

This was all so much to digest. The word ‘priest’ hadn’t even crossed Brendon’s mind until a few hours ago, but hell, he was always telling himself he needed to be more spontaneous, and he needed to go with his gut. Well, perhaps this wasn’t quite the kind of spontaneity he’d had in mind, but his gut had truly never felt louder. This felt right. This church felt like home.

“Alright,” Brendon said with a gentle smile. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

 

 

***

 

 

And indeed, Brendon kept his word. He stayed for three long years. He spent that night in Father McGregor’s spare room, slept like a baby, and never moved out. The Irish priest became so much more than an Irish priest to him. He nurtured him, and he taught him about the world. He strengthened his bond with God. He became a father to Brendon in so many more senses than just spiritual. The two of them formed a bond like no other, and most days, his life before the church didn’t even cross Brendon’s mind. Of course, he had his bad days. He had the times when he would go quiet and wouldn’t speak to Father over dinner, and then would retire to bed barely having eaten. Father McGregor knew to keep his distance when Brendon had low moments like that. He very quickly learned that the boy preferred to be left alone.

Brendon was trained up as a deacon, and aided Father in leading mass every Sunday. He became just as respected and loved by the congregation as Father McGregor did, and he truly enjoyed what he was doing. Not once did he consider that he was in the wrong profession. Not once did he doubt his calling. At seventeen, he never would have envisioned himself ending up here, but he wasn’t annoyed about it in the slightest, Everything happens for a reason, he would regularly tell himself, although he had very little trouble in believing in it.

When Brendon turned twenty-one, Father McGregor (whom Brendon called Peter more often than not) began to speak very seriously about seminary school. It was something that Brendon had never even heard of, nor knew even existed before he began staying at the church, but he was told that all members of the clergy wishing to enter the practise of priesthood, had to attend seminary school first. Essentially, it was like college. For priests.

“But if I become a priest,” Brendon had said one night when it had come up in conversation again, “I’ll have to find another church, won’t I? Because this one is too small to warrant having two. And I don’t want to leave here, or leave you.”

Father McGregor chuckled. “Son,” he said. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.” At the time, Brendon had been blind to the hint of sadness lacing his Father’s tone. Looking back now, he wished he had noticed it sooner. Maybe then things could have turned out differently.

“Will you at least consider it?” Father McGregor asked. “For me?”

Handing Brendon a brochure about the closest school, Brendon rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed. “For you.”

He ended up going to seminary school in the fall of 2014. Parting from Father was the most painful thing he had ever had to endure. More painful than leaving his family. More painful than leaving Tommy. He promised that he would come home as often as he could. He promised to write weekly. He made all of these promises. Promises, promises, promises, with nowhere near enough time to fulfil them.

That coach journey to school was the hardest, and it was the longest, but deep down, Brendon knew that he was doing the right thing. He was finding himself again, after losing himself in the worst possible way. He knew deep down that he owed it all to that wonderful Irish priest. He knew that that man had been his saviour, sent by God, to guide him. Now, he had to guide himself. Finally, at 21, he was ready, to embark on his own adventure, to fulfil his calling, to make Father McGregor proud.

But life is a funny, complicated thing, and rarely makes sense, and if only he had known what, or rather whom, was waiting for him at that school, maybe he would have never gone at all.


	22. The Beginning Of The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I’m back with a brand new chapter. Hope you like this one. It’s a little bit of a filler and I’m not terribly overjoyed with how it came out, but I don’t hate it either. 
> 
> The next chapter may take me a little while to write as I am now in work for the next three days and it’s going to be LONG. It’ll be the biggest chapter of the entire story so far and it’s definitely not something I want to rush, but stay tuned, because it’s coming, and when it does, it’s going to be great.
> 
> Just a little TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: vomit and violence are both present in this chapter, as is general drunkenness. Don’t put yourself at risk when reading. It is never worth it. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I love you all. 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Olivia

It’s November now. Leaves have deserted their trees for the winter and the sun has gone to bed by six. As a child, I always preferred the winter to summer. I got excited for Christmas and for snow. But this winter, this year, just reminds of death, and of endings, and the cloudy skies bring with them a terrible sense of foreshadowing. I don’t know exactly what they hold, but I know it can’t be anything good. 

What started out as a casual, “you-can-crash-at-my-place-tonight” situation with Tommy has now evolved into a permanent residence. For over a month now, Brendon and I have been sleeping in his bed, whilst he opts for the sofa. Every night that we offer to swap it around, that we’ll take turns on the couch or even sleep on the floor if we have to, Tommy refuses. He insists on us taking his room, to the point of aggression. Sometimes, only sometimes, he scares me. He’s so generous and kind, but he has a certain edge to him - like he’s been on the brink of... something for a very long time now, and when he snaps, it will be utterly catastrophic.

The other thing about this entire arrangement that piques my interest is how Tommy somehow affords to pay rent and groceries each month when he seems not to have a job. He goes out a lot in the evenings, whilst Brendon and I stay in the apartment, and he doesn’t return until the early hours. I wonder if he’s selling himself, but he doesn’t strike me as the type. He lacks the confidence for that.

He skulks around the flat during the daytime, like a recluse. And oddly, he talks to me more than he talks to Brendon. The only times they ever really interact are either when we’re all high, or when we’re all fucking.

One night, when Tommy is out, I’m sat on the sofa and Brendon is lying down with his head in my lap. As we’re watching TV, I stroke his hair softly and I ask, “does Tommy have a job?”

Brendon doesn’t answer me at first, but I know that he’s heard me, because his face has hardened. He knows something, and he obviously just doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’ll be damned if I give up that easily.

“Babe,” I start again, “does Tommy have a job? Only, he somehow manages to pay the rent and can afford for all three of us to eat so I guess-”

“Yeah, he has a job,” Brendon interrupts, but his voice is cutting. I try to push past it, and I continue to card my fingers through his hair, hoping that that will keep him calm.

“What does he do?” I ask. Again, silence. “Is his job the reason that you and him aren’t speaking very much? Because these last few days have been weird...”

Brendon sits up and he looks into my eyes. The only other time I have seen him look so serious was when he was staring my father down, hands clenched into fists by his side.

“My main priority is keeping you safe,” he says with certainty. “And Tommy’s jeopardising that right now.”

“How?” I reply, leaning in closer, like whatever he’s about to say is a secret that we must discuss quietly, even though we’re the only two people in the apartment.

“He’s a drug dealer,” Brendon says plainly. “And quite a high-profile one at that. I’ve had my suspicions since day one but he confirmed them the other night and I don’t know, Gracie, it’s his life or whatever, and he’s not my responsibility anymore but you are, and some of these guys he mixes with... they wouldn’t hesitate in... in doing some pretty fucked up shit if Tommy happened to screw them over. This is a big money business. It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, but, we’re not involved with it,” I reassure him, taking his hands in mine and smiling sweetly. “What Tommy decides to do with his life is his decision. We don’t have to have anything to do with it if we don’t want to.”

Brendon sighs, and he lowers his gaze. “No, I know. I know,” he says. “I just worry that he’ll get us wrapped up around his little finger and we’ll be sucked into it all sooner or later.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask him. “Has he said something to you? Babe. Has he?”

“Gracie, can you just drop it?” Brendon insists, but no, I most definitely cannot drop it.

“Talk to me,” I urge him, squeezing his hands. “Hey. Come on. When did we start keeping things from one another?”

I tug one of my hands out of his grip and press two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head up to look at me. He has an expression painted across his face that I’ve never seen before. I can’t even read it.

“Are you disappointed in me?” he asks.

“What?” I respond, completely taken aback. How could he ever think that? What in my demeanour has ever led him to that conclusion. “B, I have never been disappointed in you. You risked everything for me, for us. And the entire while, you’ve made sure that I’m safe, and that I feel... loved.” I run my hand through his hair and he keens into the touch like a cat. “Please don’t say stupid shit like that again, okay?”

He closes his eyes and hums. I take the opportunity to press my forehead to his. I want to kiss him but I also don’t. Somehow, this is so much more intimate - our faces together, lips almost touching, but not quite. Not quite.

“Gracie,” he whispers. I’ve never heard my name spoken by anybody else with so much feeling.

“Don’t,” I say softly. “Just... no words. Shh.”

He initiates the kiss. It’s so soft and gentle. Slowly, he lies me down against the couch, his hands supporting my body. He treats me like I’m porcelain china, and his lips kiss mine so delicately that my heart flutters. There’s absolutely no heat behind this whatsoever - just pure, unconditional love. I know in this moment that there is nobody else that I want to spend the rest of my life with. There is nobody else who I could ever love more than I love him.

We kiss for what feels like forever. It never moves past that and quite honestly, I don’t think either of us wants it to. We’re perfectly content just as we are. Eventually, we just end up cuddling, him lying behind me, holding me close to him. I don’t think I fall asleep, but I get pretty damn close to it, when Tommy bursts through the door, drunk out of his mind, quite obviously, startling me awake.

“Tommy, what the fuck?” Brendon explodes, jumping up off of the couch and catching the taller man just before he falls.

“Get offa me,” Tommy drunkenly slurs. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, clearly,” replies his friend sarcastically. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re never like this. You’ve never been like this.”

Instinctively, I go to the kitchen and pour Tommy a glass of water.

“Here,” I say to Brendon, handing it to him as he props Tommy up on the couch. The man can barely sit up straight. “Jesus, he’s wasted,” I remark.

“Fucking idiot,” Brendon mutters. “Hey! Asshole!” he cries, slapping Tommy lightly across the face a few times to rouse him. “Have you been roofied? I think he has. This is ridiculous. He’s off his face.”

Promptly and without warning, Tommy leans over the side of the couch and vomits all over the floor. The stench is so putrid that it makes my own insides turn.

“Drink this,” Brendon urges, lifting the glass of water up to Tommy’s lips. “Come on, buddy. That’s it.”

Tommy drinks, and Brendon sits back, sighing. “Can you start running a cold shower?” he asks me. “I think that’ll bring him to his senses a bit.”

I nod, and dash into the bathroom to do exactly that. I return a few moment’s later to help Brendon haul the tall man off of the sofa. He’s like dead weight, completely uncooperative, and almost impossible to move. Both Brendon and I grunt from the force of having to move him.

“C’mon, Tommy,” I say, sweat beading upon my brow.

We get him into the bathroom and don’t even bother to strip him down. He just push him into the shower and he sits there, upon the floor of it, slowly soaking through.

Brendon was right. The freezing cold water does revive him. He opens his mouth and his eyes as he gasps in a breath of fresh air, like he hasn’t been breathing for days. “What the fuck?” he shouts, his words still impossibly slow, but a little less slurred and certainly much more coherent.

“You fucking prick,” Brendon mutters. “How much have you drunk?”

“I don’t... I can’t...” Tommy begins, unable to get out what he wants to say. I feel a little sorry for him. This isn’t the kind of drunk one gets when they’re happy and out to have a good time. This is that impossible, all-consuming, nowhere-else-to-turn kind of drunkenness. What has got him feeling so low that he feels like he needs to do this to his body?

He vomits again, down the shower drain, and that reminds me to go and clear up the mess he’s made in the living room. “Stay with him,” I tell Brendon. As I’m about to go, he stops me. “Hey!” he says, and he reaches out for my hand. Raising it to his lips, he kisses my knuckles softly. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

I smile and I pull my hand out of his grip. After scrubbing the wooden floor with what measly cleaning supplies I can find under Tommy’s kitchen sink, I return to the bathroom. The water’s switched off, and Brendon and Tommy sit there, the former upon the closed toilet seat and the latter still on the shower floor, talking in hushed whispers. Tommy looks a lot more with it now. He must have thrown up a couple more times.

“Am I interrupting something?” I ask.

Brendon shakes his head. “Course not. C’mere,” he beckons for me to come and sit upon his lap. I do, and I feel my cheeks heat when he gently kisses the back of my neck and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Gracie, I’m so sorry,” Tommy croaks.

I shake my head. “Don’t be,” I say to him. “Are you okay, though? Like... are you alright?”

Tommy gulps and lowers his gaze. “I’m fine. I just lost my head a bit tonight.”

“He knows not to do it again,” Brendon chips in.

I take Brendon’s wrist into my hand to glance at his watch. It’s 3am. It’s only now just hitting me how absolutely exhausted I am.

Tommy must notice me looking at the clock face. “Go to bed,” he tells us. “I’m okay now. I think I’ve thrown up my entire body weight in the past hour. I feel much better.”

I’m still reluctant to leave him like this, but the pull of sleep is so strong. I glance at Brendon. He nods.

“Okay,” I say. “Well, goodnight. Don’t go scaring us like that again, okay?” I say to Tommy, and I lean down to kiss his wet hair. “You coming?” I say to my love.

“In a second,” he replies.

Sure enough, I only spend a few minutes alone in bed before Brendon comes through, stripping down to his underwear and clambering in beside me. He pulls me close, like he does every night.

“B,” I begin. He hums in response, allowing me to go on. “Is he alright? Like... deep down?”

Brendon pauses for a long time, and I assume it’s because he’s thinking. He finally settles on telling me, “he’s pretty messed up. And I think he just went into that club tonight with the wrong mindset. He’s been living in the past. He’s always been living in the past.”

“Jesus,” I sigh. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“I told you,” Brendon says. “About his ex and-”

“No, I know you did,” I interrupt. “I just mean... what must that have done to his head to fuck him up this badly?”

Brendon stays quiet. I’m not going to press. We can talk about it in the morning.

Impulsively, I whisper those three little words. He whispers them back immediately, and my heart swells. I fall asleep in his arms, feeling safer and more loved than ever.

 

 

***

 

The following morning, we both wake late, and the first thing we do is check on Tommy. He’s sat in the armchair, wide awake, his thumbnail in his mouth and his red-rimmed eyes glued to his phone screen.

“Morning,” I say softly so as not to startle him, tugging the hem of Brendon’s t-shirt further down my legs.

“Everything okay, T?” Brendon asks.

“How drunk was I last night?” is the first question that Tommy asks.

“Pretty drunk,” B sighs. He sits down on the couch adjacent and I, in turn, sit beside him.

“What’s goin’ on, Tommy?” I ask.

“I need your guys’ help,” he says anxiously, looking up from the phone and into our eyes. I feel my heart speed up a little. What the fuck has he done? I glance at Brendon and he’s hardened. He looks mad and sympathetic at the same time. His expression simply reads, ‘go on...’

“I got talking to this guy last night,” Tommy begins, “I think, anyway. I don’t know. I don’t remember shit. I’m just taking his words as gospel.” He gestures to his phone, and I see the familiar blue and grey glare of an iMessage conversation.

“Anyway,” he goes on, “apparently I agreed to strike a deal with him. A big fucking deal. And now he’s texting me to arrange the drop and I don’t have the shit, B,” he says frantically. “I don’t have it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brendon groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Can’t you just explain that?” I enquire. “I’m sure he’ll understand. I mean, you were so out of it last night. Just tell him that you said things without thinking.”

Tommy shakes his head. “N-no, I can’t do that,” he stammers. “I’d be putting my whole career on the line.”

Brendon scoffs. “Career,” he mutters under his breath.

“Says the priest who ran away from his church to fuck a teenage girl,” Tommy retorts. That catches me off guard. He doesn’t usually answer back.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Tommy,” Brendon gets out through gritted teeth.

“So what do you do now?” I ask, trying desperately to neutralise the situation and bring it back to the issue at hand.

“Well, I’ve gotta make the drop,” Tommy sighs. “I’ve got no other choice.”

“How can you when you don’t have the fucking weed to sell to the guy?” Brendon spits.

“You guys,” Tommy answers. “That’s how.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, taken aback.

Brendon explodes, standing up. “No. No fucking way, T. No motherfucking way!”

Tommy, too, stands, and I’m on tenterhooks. Please don’t fight, I beg silently in my own head. Please don’t fight, please don’t fight.

“You ungrateful son of a bitch!” Tommy cries. “I’ve let you stay in my fucking apartment for over a month now! You owe me!”

“We’ve been staying here because of your Goddamn drug money!” Brendon screams. “It’s been no sweat off your back. Man, you’re barely ever here!”

“I’ve slept on my own pissing couch for weeks now! How dare you say that to me?” shouts Tommy, and he shoves Brendon’s shoulders hard. Brendon shoves back. The looks in both of their eyes is terrifying. They look like they’ll stop at nothing to have the last word.

“No, stop,” I beg, trying to pull them off of one another, but they keep pushing and shoving and I’m not strong enough and it’s all just such a mess and nobody can tell who anybody is and then, with a cry, Tommy screams, “get the fuck off of me!” and a brutal hand connects with my face, knocking me back.

Everything stops. I stand there, mouth slightly agape, tears stinging my eyes, as I stare at the taller man, my eyes burning into his. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can say anything.

“Gr-Gracie, I am... so... sorry, I didn’t mean to, I-” he begins.

“You piece of shit,” Brendon spits out bitterly, and he comes to me and takes my hand. “Go get your things, baby,” he tells me. “We’re leaving.”

Numbly, I stumble to Tommy’s bedroom, and the second that the door is closed behind me, I burst into tears. I can hear them arguing outside the door and that only makes me cry harder. Oh, how I wish more than anything that I could just go home. I need a hug from my mom now more than ever.

“Please,” Tommy begs, “please, B, please don’t go. Not again. Don’t do this again. Not again. I never meant to hurt her. I didn’t. It was an accident! I didn’t see her there! I was so fucking caught up in... in you!”

I hear Tommy’s words and I believe them. I believe them with every fibre in my being. It was an accident. He has proved to me time and time again that he cares deeply for me, and I can’t lie, that fight was insane. I couldn’t tell where I ended and the other two of them began. I return from the bedroom. I walk straight over to them. They both stop their fighting and look right at me. Brendon’s face hurts to look at. All along, he’s said all he’s wanted to do is protect me, and he has, he absolutely has. But that doesn’t change the way he looks at me like he’s failed me.

“Gracie,” Tommy whispers my name and I manage the weakest of smiles.

“It was an accident,” I echo his words. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

“Darling,” Brendon breathes, and he comes to me and cups my red cheek in his hand. He wipes my tears with the pad of his thumb. I want to cry even more when he does that. I’m so unbelievably in love with him.

“This deal,” I say, gently pulling Brendon aside so I can look Tommy in the eye. I wrap my arms around Brendon’s bicep and hold him close to me. “We’re in.”

Tommy looks at me with wide eyes. “You are?”

Brendon does the same. “We are?”

“Yeah,” I say with certainty. God knows where B and I would be right now if it wasn’t for Tommy. The man is right. We do owe him. “What would we have to do?”

Calmly, we all sit down - I on the couch with Brendon, and Tommy in the armchair. I keep my arm wrapped around B’s, and I lock my fingers with his own, and then, Tommy explains the plan.


	23. Game Changer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there, you lovely readers. Here it is. I’ve been saying forever that shit is going to go down and it finally is. I’m not lying this time. This is it. Brace yourselves.
> 
> Just a couple of TRIGGER WARNINGS before we begin. This chapter includes graphic depictions of violence. If that bothers you, you will need to give this one a miss as it makes up the majority of the chapter. Also mentioned is the possibility of sexual assault. It is very heavily implied and almost occurs, but is stopped before anything physical happens. Nonetheless, if any references to sexual assault will be detrimental to your mental health, skip this chapter.
> 
> I am happy to give anybody affected by the aforementioned triggers a chapter synopsis either on Twitter - you can find me at @oidfashioneds, just shoot me a DM - or on Tumblr at swifturies. Remember that your mental health should always be your top priority. Never sacrifice it for a fanfic, or for anything else.
> 
> Okay, I think that’s all from me. I love you guys endlessly. I hope you enjoy this one. I profusely apologise for any tears in advance...
> 
> Lots of love,   
> Olivia

It’s set to go down at 3 in the morning. The entire night, I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve tossed and I’ve turned and I’ve gone through every single worst case scenario in my head. But it’ll all be fine. Tommy has said so.

“It’s foolproof,” he told us the day before. “Nothing can go wrong.”

But despite all of this, I can’t help but worry. Eventually, I give up on sleep altogether and I sit upright in bed and I watch Brendon sleep.

He’s so peaceful when he’s sleeping. He sleeps with his lips slightly parted and occasionally, his eyelids flicker. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I reach out and card my fingers through his fluffy, dark hair. He stirs ever so slightly, and I swear that the lightest of smiles graces his lips. All along, he’s maintained the role of my protector. He’s insisted that he’ll do anything to keep me safe. Here, in this beautiful, moment, it dawns on me that I also, would go to the ends of the Earth if it meant that he would never come to any harm. Without hesitation, I would take a bullet for him.

At 2:30, I know that I need to wake him, so we can leave on time, but I just want to stay here in this moment forever. I can hear shuffling around outside. Tommy must be awake. I want to cry. I’m not so sure that I want to do this anymore.

“B,” I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. He inhales deeply as he awakes.

“What?” he croaks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m... I’m alright,” I lie. “We just... we need to go.”

“Oh,” he sighs. “Yeah.”

We both get dressed in the dark, and in unspeakable silence. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. I’m afraid that it might actually burst forth from my ribcage and coat the wooden floor scarlet red. Tommy has reassured us time and time again that everything is going to be just fine, and my head believes that, but for some reason, my chest doesn’t.

Out in the living room, Tommy is sat on the couch, waiting. In front of him on the coffee table sits one black briefcase. “Ready?” he asks.

I’m not ready, but I nod anyway.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Brendon says.

The journey to wherever we’re meeting doesn’t take that long at all. It’s dark outside, naturally, so when we reach the edge of the city centre and cross over into the sleepy suburbs, the streetlights become few and far between and I no longer know where we are.

Brendon is sat in the backseat with me whilst Tommy drives. About halfway into the drive, he reaches for my hand and he locks his fingers with mine. He doesn’t let go until the car stops.

I squint through my window, trying to make out any distinctive outlines in the black. Tommy gets out and opens my car door. The expression upon his face is unreadable. He looks a little nervous, so I smile to reassure him, but he doesn’t smile back.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet and as I look up, I notice that we’re stood outside what looks like a large, abandoned warehouse. The building looms over me like some sort of omen. I have never felt so small before.

“In there,” Tommy points. “That’s where you’ll meet him. Remember the plan, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

Both Brendon and I stare at him.

“What?” my boyfriend questions him. “Go where?

“Well I can’t be here,” Tommy laughs, although this is quite clearly no laughing matter. “I have to keep my face hidden. In case this goes wrong.”

“I thought you said it couldn’t go wrong,” I argue. “You said it was foolproof!”

“Shh!” Tommy exclaims when I get a little too loud for his liking. “Shut your mouth, okay? I’ll be close enough by that I’ll come if you have any trouble. I just can’t be here.”

Brendon sneers. “You fucking coward,” he says with malice, snatching the briefcase out of Tommy’s hand and taking me by mine. “Come on, darlin.”

I glance behind me to watch Tommy get back in the car and drive away as Brendon tugs me towards the warehouse. Before we reach the door, I pull him back, my hands gripping his biceps.

“B, I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper, beginning to panic.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, putting the briefcase down on the stones so that he can pull me into his arms. “Gracie, darling, it’s going to be fine. We know this plan inside out. Nothing to worry about.”

I look into his eyes and I know that he’s telling me the truth, or the truth as he hopes it shall become. I love him so much. For one fleeting second, I feel untouchable, because just so long as I have Brendon by my side, I can do anything.

“Take a deep breath,” he says to me, and I do. Then, “you ready?”

I nod. “As I’ll ever be,” I say, and he pushes the door to the warehouse open. It creaks loudly, the scraping of metal against concrete making me wince - and then we’re inside.

The space is large and dark. Hanging from from the tall ceiling overhead are a few bulbs, scattered randomly around the entire room, providing an eerie blue lighting to our empty stage.

“Do you think he’s here yet?” I whisper to Brendon, like we need to be quiet, lest somebody hear us who isn’t supposed to. I haven’t let go of his hand yet, and I don’t plan to, until this entire thing is done.

“I don’t know,” he replies truthfully. “Just wait a moment, okay? Don’t say anything.”

The sound of a car engine outside startles me, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. The engine powers down, and in the painful silence, I can hear the distinctive crunch of gravel beneath shoes once more.

Then, that familiar squeal of the steel door opening. I don’t turn around to address our company - I feel like I can’t - but Brendon does, turning his head slowly.

“Tommy?” the gruff voice of an older man says. I can picture him perfectly in my head just from his voice alone.

“No,” Brendon says plainly. “I’m not him. I’m making his drop for him though.”

“Couldn’t do it himself?” the stranger scoffs.

“He has places to be.”

The buyer steps around us and I get to see him for the first time. Yes, I think to myself,this is exactly how I pictured him. Fairly short, but stocky, and built like a machine. He has a thick moustache and beard, that’s wiry and mousey brown in colour. He’s wearing a plain white tank top with a plaid shirt thrown over the top, unbuttoned, and jeans with rips in the knees. Upon his feet are thick, rubber soled boots. They look like they could have steel toe caps.

He eyes me up and down and I feel the unpleasant kind of shiver run down my spine. I wish he wouldn’t look at me like I’m a piece of meat for sale.

“Aren’t you a little young to be getting mixed up in this business, sweetheart?” he drawls, trying to sound smooth. I just think he sounds like a creep.

“It’s a one-time thing,” I say plainly. I’m not sure how I even have the confidence to speak. My heart is beating at a million miles per hour.

“Heh,” he chuckles. “That’s what they all say.”

I only just clock the rucksack in his hand. It looks worn and dirty and used. As if on cue, he holds it out to us. Brendon goes to take it but he snatches it back.

“You first, you eager prick,” the buyer smirks.

Brendon hands him the briefcase. I note how my boyfriend’s hand is trembling and I squeeze his other, the one that is still in mine.

The strange man smiles, and I feel bile rise up into my throat. “You’re having me on, right?” he says. “This isn’t what we agreed. This isn’t even half.”

“It’s a down payment,” Brendon says calmly. “Tommy can’t get a hold of the shit right now. His supplier let him down. So this is enough to last you a couple of weeks, enough for you to keep your clients happy, until we can get you the rest.”

There’s a pause that feels like it lasts an eternity. Finally, the man with the long moustache and funny shoes breaks it. By laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs and I have absolutely no idea what’s so funny but it makes me feel incredibly on edge.

“You kids think you’re so fucking smart, huh?” he tells us through gritted teeth, and I can physically see the anger begin to take a hold of him. Warning signs flash across my vision. Blurs of red. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s supposed to just take the weed and leave.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Brendon responds, in that same regulated tone of voice that he’s been using throughout this entire conversation. I admire him for being able to keep his composure when I know that he’s absolutely terrified, just like me. The clamminess of his palm is enough to tell me that.

“I mean... you think you can screw people over and get away with it,” the man retorts, stepping a little closer to Brendon. Instinctively, my boyfriend steps forward, gently and subtly pushing me slightly behind him, so I am covered by his body.

“We’re not screwing you over, I promise,” he reassures our buyer. “Tommy’s the one who got screwed over - by his supplier. But we can get you the drugs by the end of next week, I swear.”

“Well why the fuck can’t Tommy tell me that himself, huh?” he spits. “Where is he? The almighty Tommy Foxfield! Where the fuck is he?”

Come on, Tommy, I beg silently in my own mind. Come on. Show yourself. Help us out. You needed us, and we were there for you. It’s time for you to repay the favour.

“I told you,” Brendon says, growing increasingly more distressed with every syllable, “he has places to be. This is the deal we’re offering. If you don’t want it, we’ll take our shit and go.”

“Like hell you will,” the buyer responds. He looks at me again. I wonder if he can see the sheer terror in my eyes. I wonder if he can sense how close I am to just running away, from all of this, and never, ever coming back.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon calmly replies, “but this is the best we can offer...”

The man doesn’t seem so interested in Brendon’s words anymore. He seems interested in... me. “How old are you, honey?” he asks. Brendon looks at me, but I can’t stop looking at this man.

“Eighteen,” I answer truthfully.

“Give me an hour with her and we have a deal,” he says to Brendon. The moment those words have left his mouth, I want to scream. No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

“No fucking deal,” Brendon responds quietly, but his words absolutely burn with rage. He turns to leave, and naturally, I follow, but within a second, I feel a hand tugging harshly on the back of my shirt, ripping me forcefully from Brendon’s grasp, and I scream.

“Get the fuck off of her, you piece of shit!” Brendon shouts, wrestling with a man who is easily twice his size. I kick and hit and do anything I can to make this prick let go of me, but he’s relentless, and he’s strong. And I’m so, so scared.

I don’t immediately register when he throws me across the room. I travel a fair distance, and land upon the cold, hard ground with a thud. Searing white hot pain travels through my left hip - the point of immediate impact. When I look up, I see two angry men fighting, and then, as the pain dies down a little and my vision becomes less blurry, I note how the larger of the two swings for the smaller and-

“No!” I scream, but I am too late. Brendon goes down, crumpling like a paper doll, down, down, down. I scramble across the floor to him, unable to get to my feet, but before I can reach him, the monstrous giant has a hold of me again, practically dragging me across the room.

“Please!” I beg him, thrashing around to try and falter his grip. “Please, don’t!”

I resist as much as I possibly can. When he’s hovering above me and fiddling with his belt buckle, I risk everything and I bring my foot up hard between his legs.

“You fucking bitch!” the man half-shouts, half-whines, collapsing in agony. I take advantage of his moment of weakness by skidding across the room to Brendon. He’s coming to, and I cup his face in my hands. His nose is bleeding.

“B, come on,” I beg him. Tears run down my face like I’m a broken faucet. “Please. Wake up. We’ve gotta get out of here, my love.”

When he wakes properly, he sits up, and it’s like all of his energy hits him at once - like he’s never been knocked out at all.

“Gracie, go!” he shouts to me, but I’m not going fucking anywhere. Not without him.

He gets to his feet and haphazardly crosses the room to the abusive stranger who is also now coming around from his ordeal caused by my swift thinking.

“You stay the fuck away from her,” Brendon gets out, spitting a mouthful of blood into the man’s face. I squeeze my eyes tight shut for a moment. My eyelashes are soaked with salty tears.

What happens next happens so quickly that I have no time to process it. As Brendon stumbles towards me, the burly man with the moustache regains his strength and launches himself at B. He pins my love to the ground and within seconds, he’s straddling him, and he has two thick, strong hands locked around Brendon’s neck.

The scream that breaks forth from my mouth sounds nothing like me. I run to the pair of them, and I desperately try to peel the stranger off of Brendon’s body but I’m too weak, and those boots, I learn, are definitely steel toe capped, when one of them connects with my stomach, kicking me back, winding me.

The sounds of the monster’s guttural, persistent, angry grunts mix with the horrifying noise of Brendon choking. His body thrashes about beneath the giant’s weight. He can’t breathe. This man is killing him. He’s strangling him. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die.

I beg with everything that I have, but I know that it’s futile. The gigantic beast is seeing pure red. He’s going to kill my love and I can’t stop him.

The colour is totally drained from Brendon’s face and his eyes are wide. I can’t see straight through my tears. I can’t sit back and let this happen, but I can’t do anything else. All I can do is scream.

The gun goes off and everything just... stops. I watch in horror as the man strangling my boyfriend jolts and then he too just... stops. And then, in slow motion, he slumps to the side, and falls off of Brendon’s body completely. The sound of Brendon gasping in his first gulp of air like an infant revives me, and then it’s like everything is in fast forward. All that matters is him.

I run to him, and I pull him into my arms. He coughs and wheezes and I hold him close to me. He curls into my body, and lets me cradle him. I stroke his hair and rock him gently and I whisper over and over, “it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

I don’t know what’s happening. I glance to my left and I see that hulking monster lying motionless on the floor, dark blood pooling around him. The entire scene seems so fake. There is no way in hell that this is actually happening.

I look up and a few feet away, stood shrouded in darkness, is a tall, slim figure, shotgun in hand. I can’t make out his features, but I know that it’s him, and I know exactly what he’s done. So does Brendon. He makes that clear when he speaks up, voice incredibly strained and broken.

“Oh Tommy...” he sighs, “what the fuck have you done?”


	24. Drowning The Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hey, guys! Sorry that it’s been a little while since my last update, I’ve had a crazy hectic week BUT you’ll be pleased to know that my vacation starts tomorrow so I’ll just be writing, writing, writing poolside all day everyday. Hopefully I’ll be able to get quite a few chapters out to you soon.
> 
> I just wanted to say another massive thank you for the support on this story. Every day, this little community of readers grows and it makes my heart so happy. I love hearing your theories about what’s to come and what you think might happen to all the characters. I love reading your reactions. I’ve always loved writing, but it’s so much better when you’re writing for a wonderful group of people who actually want to listen.
> 
> So, thank you so much. Enjoy this update. Please let me know what you think! I’ll see you all very soon.
> 
> Much love,  
> Olivia

We all stay silent for what feels like a very long time. Eventually, Tommy steps out of the shadows, but I don’t recognise him anymore. With the click of that trigger, he has forever been altered in my brain.

“He was... he was going to kill you, B,” Tommy murmurs timidly. “I had to do something.”

Deep down, I know that he’s right. I’d seen my boyfriend’s face, devoid of all colour, pupils blown wide from the lack of oxygen, and I know that if nothing had been done, he would have been gone. The thought doesn’t bare thinking about.

“It was self-defence,” I whisper, predominately to try and convince myself that we have a legitimate reason for the situation that we’re in right now. I’m still holding Brendon close to me. I don’t want to ever let him go again.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to fucking shoot him!” Brendon cries. His voice cracks like he’s been screaming for hours on end. His entire neck is bright red and my heart aches. He went through all of that to protect me. In what world could I ever possibly deserve him?

“Brendon, I-” Tommy begins, his eyes full of sadness, but B doesn’t let him finish.

“You could’ve wrestled him offa me! You’re twice his size. Or if you were gonna shoot him, couldn’t you have shot him in the... in the leg or something? Somewhere that wouldn’t have killed him but could’ve given me an escape!”

“I didn’t think,” Tommy tries again.

“Damn right you didn’t think!” Brendon screams. “Now we have a dead fucking body to take care of!”

That’s when it really hits me - when Brendon says it out loud. This is a murder. We’re complicit in a motherfucking murder. Holy shit. Holy shit. What the ever-loving fuck do we do now?

Brendon takes my face into his hands and his frantic eyes search mine for any signs of damage. “Are you okay?” he asks me desperately. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head slowly and then I pull him into my arms and we hold one another for what feels like an eternity, seeking solace in the other. I don’t know exactly what the future holds after tonight, but one thing of which I’m certain is that we will never be the same again.

Brendon pulls away first and hastily wipes at his eyes, as if he’s ashamed to be crying, despite almost just getting strangled to death and witnessing a man getting shot whilst on top of him. “I’m done with this, Tommy,” he croaks. “This is bullshit. We’re out of here - Gracie and I. You can clean up your mess yourself this time.”

I take his hand when he offers it to me and he pulls up off of the ground. Tommy looks absolutely petrified.

“N-no, please,” he begs, “you can’t leave! Not now!”

“Yes we can,” Brendon insists, “and we are. This is your problem now.”

“Gracie, come on,” Tommy turns to me for some help. “Talk some sense into him.”

My answer doesn’t even need any thought. “If Brendon goes, I go,” I say.

We begin to head for the warehouse door without another word, but both stop dead in our tracks when Tommy drops his bombshell.

“If you go, I’ll tell the police everything. I’ll tell them it was all you, B,” he vows, his words carrying the force of a hurricane within them. I know that he has never been more serious about anything in his entire life. We both turn to face him and his eyes burn with rage and hurt. His jaw is clenched. He still has a white knuckle grip upon the gun.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Brendon replies shakily, trying to call his bluff, although the tremble in his tone dampens its impact.

“I would,” Tommy burns. “Don’t fucking test me.”

“Ho-how could you... what evidence...”

“Your DNA’s all over his body, man,” Tommy shrugs. “From your fight. Hell, so is yours,” he directs this last part to me. “But me? I didn’t touch him. They’ve got nothing on me.”

“Your prints are on the gun,” I counter, “and they’ll match up the bullet wound to that model.”

“But what if they never find the gun?” Tommy smirks wickedly and right now, I have no doubt in my mind that he has truly lost his own. There’s something deranged about his smile. Unhinged. This man that I thought I knew is now lost on me. All I see is a stranger.

“If we leave...” Brendon begins.

“Then you’re over.”

I look up at Brendon and he looks down onto me and he’s absolutely dead behind the eyes. We have no choice. We have to stay.

“What do you need us to do?” Brendon says monotonously, like a robot, or a slave to his master.

Tommy explains how we need to dispose of the body, somewhere that nobody will ever find it. There’s a lake nearby, he tells us, and that could be the safest spot. If ever the body is discovered, it won’t be for a long time, and by then, the water will have decomposed all of our in incriminating evidence. It’s kind of scary how clued up he is on this shit.

“If we help you do this,” Brendon begins, “if we help you cover this up, do you promise never to tell a soul?”

Tommy nods. “Never,” he vows.

I sigh deeply. Never in a million years did I think this is where I would end up. Ever since we met Tommy, I’ve had suspicions, niggling away right at the back of my brain, and more often than not, his actions have quelled them, but the feeling never went completely away. Now, I understand why. I never should have trusted him. I’ve become so used to taking Brendon’s words as gospel that I never spoke up about my uncertainty when Tommy first invited us to his apartment. I should have said something that first night, but I didn’t. I should have told him after a week, but I didn’t. I should have never let it get to two weeks, or three, or a month, but it did, and both Brendon and I fell further and further under his spell. And now here we are: completely stuck, with no way out. We’ve consigned ourselves to him, for better or for worse. This truly is the beginning of the end.

Brendon tells me to stand back when he and Tommy move over to the body.

“Let us deal with it,” he says. “I don’t want any of your evidence being caught up in this.”

“But this is my mess too,” I insist. He’d really do that for me? I think. Take the blame for me? For Tommy? For both of us, if he had to?

“Gracie, just... don’t,” he sighs deeply, and I can tell that he’s trying so hard to keep his temper. He’s not angry at me, just at the situation. “Go open up the trunk of the car,” he instructs.

I do so, and I stand beside it and watch on as the two men struggle under the dead weight of the carcass, having to place him down on the ground a couple of times along the way so that they regain their breath. Eventually, they make it over to the car and I can see the sweat beading upon each of their foreheads and the strain that their biceps are under when they lift the body into the trunk. Tommy slams the lid shut and marches around to the driver’s seat. Brendon goes to get in too, but I pull him back.

“What is it?” he whispers, his eyes searching mine. I want to cry. After everything, he still loves me. No matter what, I know that he’ll always love me.

“Nothing, I just-” I begin, but when I realise that I don’t have the words and that only actions will suffice, I wrap my arms around him and press my face into his chest and hug him close. I just want this whole nightmare to be over.

Brendon sits in the back with me, even though the passenger seat is vacant. He lets me rest my head upon his shoulder and he locks his fingers with mine. Blankly, I stare out of the window, even though there isn’t all that much to see. Whenever I close my eyes, I’m greeted with the awful sight of Brendon choking - a painful reminder of the moment that I almost lost him.

The car rolls to a gentle stop. I can’t see where we are until I get out of the car and realise that we’re at the edge of a large lake, just as Tommy said we would be. It stretches on for as far as I can see. A few yards off to the right is a little dock, and three quaint, old fashioned wooden boats lines up neatly in a row on the water. They’re obviously ones that are available for hire during the height of summertime, but it’s late November now, and they’ve quite clearly not been touched in months. Tommy and Brendon head around to the trunk and haul out our crime. They drag it over to the fishing boats, coating its clothing in dust, and roll it into one of the boats.

“Stay here,” Brendon tells me, with concern lacing his tone. I want to tell him that I’d rather die than stay here, because that means being apart from him, and after the events in the warehouse, I’ve vowed to never leave his side again. I especially don’t want him riding off to the middle of the lake with only Tommy for company - Tommy, a murderer. The entire thing has me feeling incredibly nauseous.

I know I couldn’t go even if I wanted to. The boat would never cope with the weight of all three of us and the body. It’s barely managing with just the boys.

“Stay where I can see you,” I say to Brendon before they begin to row, and I watch from my spot on the end of the dock as they move further and further away, becoming a distant shadow upon the water. There’s no artificial light here - only the moon - so I rely on this and the strength of my own eyes to not lose them, but it’s hard when it’s so dark and misty. My heart is pounding. I can feel its reverberations against my ribcage. I can barely see them, but it’s so quiet that I can hear a loud splash and I presume it’s them rolling the body out of the boat and into the depths below.

I don’t notice that I start crying. The tears feel bitterly cold against my cheeks because of the harsh wind. I wrap my arms around myself and despise the fact that I have to hold myself because Brendon isn’t here to do it for me. I don’t take my eyes off of the lake, not for a second, and slowly but surely, two figures upon a little wooden boat draw closer and closer to the dock, until they’re right beside me again and the only one I care about takes me in his arms and holds me.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as he strokes my hair gently. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

Later that night, back in Tommy’s apartment, Brendon and I lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. For a long while, neither one of us speaks. If we do decide to say anything, we do so in hushed tones. We don’t want Tommy to hear anything that we say. Neither one of us trusts him anymore. The fact that he could be so calm, so collected, so... unbothered after killing somebody unnerves us both.

“B,” I whisper into the darkness of the room. I have no idea what time it is. I hope he’s still awake.

“Yeah?” he answers.

I pause before speaking. In the darkness, I reach out for his hand. “We need to get out of here,” I say.

He finds my hand and joins it with his own. “I know,” he replies softly. “I know. And we will... I promise.”

 

 

 


	25. A Breakfast Of French Toast, With Just A Sprinkling Of Cocaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I’m back. I’ve spent all day lounging poolside writing this for you and it’s been absolute bliss. This is a little bit of a filler chapter, but it was necessary and I hope you enjoy it all the same. I promise that the next update will be far more exciting. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Your feedback is invaluable.
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Olivia

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I wake up slowly and feel the familiar weight of a migraine pressing down onto my skull. I’m wrapped up in Brendon’s protective arms and when I try to pull away, he subconsciously tightens his grip in his sleep, keeping me flush to his chest. I go to glance up at his face, but my gaze doesn’t get that far, because it is fixated upon his neck, littered with black and purple bruises. I have never felt more guilty than I do in this very moment. Everything that we’ve been through thus far, everything that we’ve endured - none of it compares to this. And somehow, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault - because if we’d never met, he never would have had to leave his church, and he never would have found Tommy again, and he never would have got caught up in all of... this.

I have no idea what time it is, but I don’t want him to sleep any longer. I hate that we even fell asleep in the first place. To rouse him, I press gentle kisses to his bare chest, working my way up, up, up until I reach his neck. With a delicate, trembling hand, I run my fingertips over the markings - the brutal reminders of a life almost lost - and he exhales deeply. I flicker my gaze up to his sleeping face and watch as his eyes slowly open.

“Gracie?” he whispers.

“I’m right here.”

When he hears my voice, a faint, sleepy smile travels across his lips. It takes all of my strength not to cry.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him, reaching up to run my hand through his dark locks.

“Sore,” he answers truthfully. “How about you?”

I think about that for a second. Truly, how am I? I don’t think I’m tired anymore, but I also feel like I could sleep for days. The only word that springs to my mind that aptly describes how I’m feeling right now is numb. God, I feel so numb.

I don’t say that to him, though. “Fine,” I lie. “I feel fine.”

Huffing out a deep breath through his nostrils, Brendon heaves himself to an upright position and pulls me up with him. He keeps his arms wrapped around me, like he can’t bear the thought of letting me go. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand what I did to deserve a love this good. After all we’ve gone through, I now know that we could survive anything - everything that he sacrificed to be with me is proof enough that this was never just a quick fling. It had always been more. He abandoned his job, his livelihood, to be with me. Often, I wonder what the people back in that sleepy little town have to say about all of this. They probably talk about us over their afternoon teas or during their Sunday lunchtime gatherings after church.

“How awful,” I can hear them saying, “do they feel no shame?”

“I always had my suspicions about that man... I never believed he was completely devoted to God.”

“And the girl - how can she live with herself? Dropping out of college to run away with her priest, of all people! The scandal of it all.”

Well, honestly, I don’t give a fuck about ‘the scandal of it all’. I don’t care who disapproves. I’ve always firmly believed that love is an unavoidable emotion and I don’t blame Brendon for not being strong enough to evade it. Love isn’t weak. You don’t get to decide whom you’re drawn to in this life. It isn’t his fault that he was drawn to me, and I to him.

Perhaps he should have at least tried to resist temptation. Perhaps he could have avoided any contact with me, to remain devoted to his God. But he didn’t, and I’m glad that he didn’t. Perhaps God knew how much we would end up meaning to one another if he pursued me, so God let him give into his temptation.

I pull myself back into reality and turn my head so that I can kiss him. I kiss him deeply, like my life depends upon it, my hands cupping his cheeks.

He mumbles my name against my lips and his hands tangle themselves up in my hair. We kiss and we kiss and we kiss and I end up sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. I gasp breathlessly when I pull away for air, and I pull his face into my chest and I hold him close to me, because I know what’s coming. It’s like when you can sense a storm brewing in the air hours before the first spot of rain even falls. It’s like on that first night away from home, in that dark motel room, but the opposite way around. I hold him and I wait for his tears to start. He hasn’t allowed himself to break yet.

And when he does, he really does. Heartbreaking sobs come forth from his body, wracking his entire body. I wonder when he last cried like this. He’s always been so strong for me - I wish he knew that he didn’t have to be. I shush him and I stroke his hair and I reassure him that I’m here and that I love him and that I’m never, ever going anywhere.

He must cry for a good twenty minutes, until his painful lament turns to soft whimpers. I pull his face away from my body and I hold it in my hands, staring into his eyes.

“Okay now?” I ask him with a soft smile.

When he smiles back, it’s like the sun comes out. “Okay,” he says.

We have to pretend like everything is normal, so we get dressed and we go and make breakfast. There’s no sign of Tommy yet. The smallest part of me, the part of me that has always cared, wants to go and check on him, to see if he’s okay. But the majority of me never wants to see him again.

“What Tommy did to us last night,” I say to B whilst sat upon the kitchen counter, watching on as he grills french toast, “how do you feel about it?”

Brendon thinks for a moment before answering me. “I think... if I was in his position, I would have done exactly the fucking same.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “No, I don’t... I don’t think you would. You care about others too much. You would take the blame.”

“But I haven’t been treated the way that Tommy has been,” he sighs. “His entire fucking life, G, he... I just don’t blame him, okay? It’s what I deserve for what I’ve put him through.”

“With his girlfriend?” I remind him.

“Yeah... something like that.”

A silent thought that has been brewing in the back of my brain for weeks finally finds its voice and pushes its way through to the front and I ask him a question I’ve been burning to ask for weeks - I just didn’t realise it.

“Babe, have you ever had... feelings for Tommy?”

The pause that follows kind of tells me everything I need to know and my suspicions are confirmed.

“Tommy and I have known one another for a very long time,” he tells me. “You have to understand that. But you also need to know that I’m not the same person now that I was when I was a teenager.”

“Yeah, I know that,” I reply.

“I know _you_ know that,” Brendon looks at me, “but I think the problem that we have is that Tommy doesn’t.”

He puts our french toasts onto plates and we eat in silence. Halfway through my second slice, a bedraggled, bleary-eyed tall man emerges from the bathroom. So that’s where he’d been hiding. We both stare at him like he’s a complete stranger - like this is our home and he’s the intruder.

“Morning,” he mumbles, heading straight for the coffee machine. Is he not going to acknowledge last night whatsoever? Was it all just in a day’s work for him?

“Why were you in the bathroom for so long, T?” Brendon asks, his voice icy cold. He sounds like he’s about to absolutely lose it.

“Why’s that any of your business?” the tall man replies as he pours himself a cup of coffee - black.

“Answer the damn question,” Brendon gets out through gritted teeth. I’m so lost. I feel like B knows something that I don’t.

“Fuck you, Brendon,” Tommy retorts and I jolt when Brendon slams his hand down onto the table, making the cutlery jolt. He gets up and marches into the bathroom and returns moments later with a face like thunder and a small ziplock bag of white powder in his hand that he proceeds to throw across the table to Tommy.

“I thought we had a fucking deal,” Brendon says, voice menacingly low. I’ve never seen him so angry before.

“I-” Tommy begins, but my boyfriend gives him no chance to explain himself.

“Are you selling this shit too? Did you lie to me?”

“No, I didn’t lie,” Tommy replies, oddly calm considering that Brendon looks like he too, could kill a man. “You asked me what I was selling _before_ I moved onto coke. I just didn’t tell you when I did.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Brendon explodes. “I am trying so fucking hard right now... You promised me! No hard drugs. Do you know how fucking dangerous this business is? Do you have any clue who you’re dealing with here?”

“It’s my fucking life,” Tommy shrugs, nonchalant.

“But it’s mine and Gracie’s that you’re dragging into it!”

There’s a long, painful silence and the two boys’ eyes bore into one another like they’re staring right into one another’s souls. I don’t even know what to say. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. I’m scared that if I even make a sound, one of them is going to snap. This entire situation is so, so fucked. Last night, Tommy killed a man and we all stayed up until 6am burying the fucking body at the bottom of a lake. This isn’t a movie. This are our actual lives, forever intertwined because of the horrible things that we all did. I think I’m going to be sick.

I jump up from my seat and rush to the bathroom, only just making it in time, my french toast making an unpleasant reappearance. Less than ten seconds after I shoved the bathroom door open, I feel a strong, comforting hand upon my back.

“You alright?” Brendon asks, crouching down beside me. I nod and sigh deeply, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

I rinse my mouth out and look at myself for a brief moment in the mirror. From behind, Brendon wraps his arms around me and leans his head down to rest upon my shoulder. He places his hands upon my stomach and delicately kisses my cheek.

“It’s all going to be okay,” he promises me, “no matter what happens.”

Hand-in-hand, we head back out to the main living space.

“You okay?” Tommy asks.

“Like you fucking give a shit,” I snap. I don’t care anymore. He’s been dealing coke underneath our noses and didn’t think to let either of us know. Oh, and he also killed a fucking man. Can’t forget about that, can we?

“Gracie,” Tommy says softly, “I’ve always cared about you.”

I hear his words and I wonder, if they’re true, why he only came to Brendon’s rescue last night and not mine?

“Bullshit,” I remark, tears stinging my vision, because once upon a time, I really believed that he did.

Tommy opens his mouth to speak but Brendon holds up his hand. “Save it,” he says. He doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just tired. “I’m sick of your lies, Tommy. We both are.”

Tommy looks a little broken, but I sure as hell don’t have the energy to fix him. “I’m going back to bed,” I announce before turning to Brendon. “Joining me?”

“Love to.”

We head back into the bedroom and we remain there, not sleeping, just holding one another, until around noon, we hear the front door slam shut and realise Tommy’s gone out, but to where, we have no clue.

I look at Brendon and he nods. Now or never.

It’s bold of Tommy to assume that we’re still going to be waiting for him when he gets back.


	26. Two Kids In A Getaway Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, angels. Welcome back!
> 
> I was struggling with this chapter A LOT. I’m still not 100% in love with it but it’s much better now than it was originally. The title for this one is taken from one of my favourite songs, Getaway Car by Lea Michele. If you haven’t heard it, you should give it a listen. It’s Brendon and Gracie’s anthem. 
> 
> This one does have some good, old fashioned smut, just like how it used to be. It’s tainted with sadness now because of the situation but I felt like I should add it because it’ll be the last piece of smut in this entire fic... we’re almost at the end, kids. How crazy is that?
> 
> Let me know what you think. As always, I love to read your comments and see what you do and don’t like about the chapter. 
> 
> I’m sorry in advance to anybody who cries at the end of this chapter because I cried when writing it. 
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

We know that we’re on borrowed time, so we pack up our things hastily - not that we have many to pack anyway. My hands tremble as I fold up my t-shirts and B picks up on it because he takes them into his own.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, look at me.”

I look at him and I manage to smile, because he looks at me like I put every single one of the stars in the sky. He looks at me like he worships me.

“We’ll go somewhere that he won’t find us,” Brendon reassures me. “We’ll start over. I’ll get a job and we can find a little apartment somewhere and it’ll just be me and you, Gracie girl.”

I nod. Damn, I want that more than anything. He takes my face into his hands and he kisses me. I want to stay in this moment forever because when he kisses me, everything else just melts away - Tommy and the drugs and the murder all fade to black.

I finish packing up my bag whilst Brendon disappears into the other room. He returns with a black briefcase. Oddly enough, I’m not so fond of them anymore. “What’s that?” I ask uncertainly.

“I never told you... but I should have, and I’m sorry,” Brendon says. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? What’s going on?”

He places the briefcase onto the bed and unclips it. Inside is more money than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Stacks and stacks of $100 bills.

He begins explaining so I don’t have to ask. “Before Tommy mentioned the deal to you, he talked about it with me, and he said if we helped him, he’d pay us generously. I didn’t like the idea of it at first either, but we... we need the money, if we’re ever gonna get out of here. And even though the deal didn’t exactly carry through, well, Tommy’s a man of his word, so...”

I can’t believe any of this. I refuse to believe it. “Brendon, this is... this is blood money now,” I say, feeling a fire begin to burn up inside of me, threatening to spill out of me like lava. “We can’t take this. I can’t believe you would even consider it.”

Inside, I’m warring with myself. My constant need for morality tries to throw punches at the selfish side of me that wants to take the money and run but it’s just not strong enough. I think I’ve reached the stage now where I’m able to just say, ‘fuck it’ and actually mean it. We covered up a murder last night. It can’t get any worse than this.

Brendon looks at me like a sad puppy as he waits for me to call all the shots. Why is this colossal decision down to me? I wish he’d just say something instead of just standing there with mournful eyes. It’s pissing me off. “Just... take out enough for us to survive for a few weeks. We don’t need all of it.”

He nods and grabs a few grand and then tucks the briefcase under Tommy’s bed. When we’re ready to go, I glance back at the apartment that we’ve called home for the past couple of months and the anxiety hits me all at once.

“He’s gonna be so angry when he realises that we’re gone,” I whisper, clutching Brendon’s hand tightly.

“I know,” he sighs. “And I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this to him again, but he’s... changed, Gracie. I don’t recognise him anymore.”

I nod because I understand. “Where are we going to go?”

Brendon looks at me. “I don’t know, but I do know it’ll be somewhere far away from here.”

We take one last look at the apartment and then we don’t look back. We head down the groaning metal staircase one last time and we load all our things into the trunk. We waste no time in driving away - to where, neither if us are sure, but we need to cover as much ground as we can before Tommy comes back and notices that we’re gone.

Being alone in the car with Brendon has become my safest place. I feel like we’re untouchable here and for the first time in a long time, I really do think that we’re going to be okay. It’s hard to be truly happy after everything that’s happened, but my boyfriend turns the radio right up and we rush down a deserted highway and we sing like neither of us have ever been hurt before. And the more we sing, the less hollow my chest feels. Breathing becomes easier. By the fourth or fifth song, I feel completely and utterly free.

“This is our new start, isn’t it?” I ask him.

“Sure is, darlin’,” he smiles.

Finally, after everything, our happy ending actually seems possible. I reach for his free hand and lock my fingers with him. God, I’m so in love with him. I want to spend eternity with him.

“You know,” I grin, chewing on my bottom lip, it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you senseless right now.”

He sighs deeply and closes his eyes for a brief moment. “You can’t say shit like that when I’m driving, doll.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not, you bitch.”

Smirking, I open his glove compartment and fumble around until I find a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. I place one between my lips and watch his face change as I do. As I light up, I notice his jaw clench out of the corner of my eye. I roll my window down, throw my feet up onto the dashboard and I take a long drag of the cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

I look at him and he gives me an expression that I’ve. ever seen before. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing, it’s just... when I first met you, you were a girl. And now... now you’re a woman.”

I take another long drag of the cigarette and sensually blow the smoke into his face. He sighs it in with closed eyes and parted lips. I delicately tilt his face so it’s focused back on the road even though it’s straight for miles and there’s no cars in sight.

With a smirk, I murmur, “eyes on the road, baby boy.”

At the first possible turn-off, he pulls over and drives halfway down a gravelly dirt track. “Why have we stopped, babe?”

“You fucking slut,” he laughs. “Undo that seatbelt and get on my lap.”

I’ve truly lost all inhibitions now. I just don’t give a fuck about any of it anymore - I don’t want to think about last night. I don’t want to think about Tommy. All I want is to be completely and utterly consumed by Brendon. I want the entire world to fuck off and just leave me and him alone. That sounds like the most blissful existence - a world where nobody by the two of us exist. A world that’s ours.

I just want to feel high. I want to feel good. I don’t want to be devoured by this deathly darkness any more. I want him to fuck me. I want him to be rough with me, want him to pull my hair and slap my face and call me his whore like he used to. Maybe, deep down, I need it all as a distraction. Or maybe I just desperately miss how we used to be, before any of this happened, and I’ll do anything to get a small piece of that back again.

I climb onto his lap like he tells me to and his hands immediately grab at my ass, kneading it in his hands. His breathing is a little ragged, I presume, because he’s so turned on. His mouth goes straight for my neck and he attacks it like it’s his favourite Goddamn meal. He brands me as his by sucking his mark into my skin. He’s so fucking good at it that I can’t help but whine and grind down against his crotch, which only causes him to grab my ass tighter.

“Just like old times,” I beg him. “Please. Just... take me someplace else. Make me forget about everything.”

“You want me to be rough, darlin?” he murmurs against my neck. God. I want that more than anything. I nod yes.

He laughs - a deep, lustful noise emanating from the back of his throat, and then he pushes his hand down the front of my jeans and underwear, running his fingers back and forth. I whimper pathetically. It’s been too long since it was just me and him. I’ve missed it so much.

“Bonnie to my Clyde, aren’t you, babe?” he whispers, running his tongue down my neck. “My little freak.”

“Whatever you wanna call me,” I sigh. “I’m yours. Completely.”

“Get off. Get in the backseat,” he demands, and I don’t need to be told twice. I awkwardly clamber through to the back whilst he stays in the front.

I furrow my eyebrows. “Aren’t you joining me?”

“Mmm, no,” he smirks. “I thought I’d stay up front and watch you put on a show for me until you can prove that you deserve me.”

Shit, I think. Shit, shit, shit. “O-okay,” I stammer pathetically. “Do you, um, want me to get undressed?”

“Course I do, darlin,” he says, licking his lips. “Let me see your body.”

I tug my shirt up and off of my head and then tug down my jeans. I remove my bra first, looking him dead in the eyes as I touch my own breasts for a moment before running my hands down to my black panties. I sigh, parting my lips as I run my fingertips over the soft fabric. Brendon’s fucking mesmerised. He can’t take his eyes off of me.

I don’t tease him for long. I pull the flimsy little bit of fabric down and off my legs and I spread them for him, hooking one up on the back of the seats.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, looking at me like he wants to fucking devour me.

I bring two of my fingers up to my lips and I slowly push them into my mouth, wetting them with my spit before dragging them down the length of my body until they reach my pussy.

“Go on,” he urges. “Show me what you can do.”

If he wants a show, then I’ll put on a damn show. All I want to do is turn him on. I slowly slide one finger inside of myself and sigh at how good it feels, albeit a little dramatically. I focus just on that singular digit for a few moments and then add a second, chewing on my bottom lip as I stretch myself out. I look into his eyes and I watch as he slowly pushes his hand down his own jeans. Fuck. There’s something so hot about watching him do that.

Eventually, I feel able to add a third finger, but that’s certainly my limit and I moan deeply as I pump myself with those three digits, because fuck, it feels so, so good.

“Daddy...” I whisper, the name just toppling off of my lips like a reflex. It feels so nice to call him that again.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs. “You look so fucking good. Daddy wants to fuck you til you can’t walk.”

That in itself almost sends me over the edge. “Please come touch me,” I beg him. “Or fuck me. Or do something, for fuck’s sake. My own hand isn’t enough.”

“You little slut,” he laughs, but he’s already making his way into the backseat. “You don’t call the shots here. I do. You know that.”

He hooks my legs over his shoulders and pulls me closer so he can dip his heat and run his tongue against my wetness. I let out a short, sharp cry, hands gripping at any parts of the car that I can. Fuck, I forgot how good he was at this. “Oh shit,” I whimper. “So nice. Feels so, so nice.”

He moans against me, which only heightens the experience, dipping his tongue right inside of me. The best is when he pulls out and repeatedly flicks his tongue against my clit. I have to bite my own hand to stop myself from screaming.

When he pulls away completely, I instantly need him back there again, and teasingly, he presses the head of his cock up against me. “Fuck,” I beg him. “Please, please. Need your cock. Need it so bad.”

He smirks and pushes right in, without edging, without being gentle. I’m wet and prepped enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it is a shock, and I moan deeply, scratching at my own skin. “Holy fuck,” I curse. “Oh shit, Daddy. Your cock feels so good.”

“You bet it does, Princess,” he whispers, fucking into me hard and fast, the car jolting beneath us as he does.

I’m so close. I’m so fucking close. “Daddy,” I whimper, “can I come?”

He looks at me and I know that I must look a total fucking mess. He nods silently and watches me unravel before him and he pulls out soon after and comes across my chest.

After it’s all over, he collapses on top of me and holds me close to him and when he starts stroking my hair, I begin to cry.

“We’re so fucked,” I sob. “There’s no happily ever after. That’s all bullshit. We’re so, so fucked.”

What breaks me even more than my own words are his. “I know,” he says, and then I know there really is no hope. If Brendon’s given up, then we’ve got nothing left.

He reaches through to the trunk and tugs a quilted blanket through to the backseat. Covering us both, I curl into his body as best as I can in such a small space and I cry a little more into his side. He comforts me as best as he can, but I don’t blame him for not trying harder with the words of encouragement. We’re both broken. I can see that now. What scares me most is that I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to fix one another.

We both fall asleep with heavy hearts and weepy eyes and a gut-wrenching, heart-aching fear of what’s still to come...


	27. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, GUYS! 
> 
> So, here’s Chapter Twenty Seven. Only four chapters left after this! We’re so close to the end. This one is a little shorter as it’s a bit of a filler but I promise that the next chapter is going to be longer. I hope you like it all the same.
> 
> Oh and just a little update for any readers who have been here for a while: due to the controversial nature of Gracie being under eighteen when the fic began, I have gone back and begun to edit her age so that she is eighteen to begin with and turns nineteen during the story. A few people had come to me to tell me that Gracie being seventeen at the start made them uncomfortable and thos was something I didn’t really consider as the age of consent in my country is sixteen, thus making their relationship legal when she was seventeen. But of course, this is not the case everywhere and I should have been aware of that. So to let you all know, Gracie was eighteen when the fic began and turned nineteen during - and she also attends college as opposed to school, just so it fits the timeline. Sorry if this is confusing tl any of you, but I don’t want to upset anybody or make anyone uncomfortable. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER for a panic/anxiety attack. It’s described mildly and I don’t go too into depth with it because it didn’t need a whole description, but just a heads up for you in case you needed it. 
> 
> Okay, I think that’s all. If you have any questions, just ask! I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

When we wake up, we drive. We speed through unknown towns and cities for hours, covering as much ground as we can. I couldn’t tell you where we are even if I wanted to. I’m not even sure that we’re still in the same country. It feels like we’ve been driving too long to have no crossed some sort of border. It’s pleasant though. A lot of the journey is spent just talking. Talking about our feelings, our dreams, what we want to do next. We talk about our pasts and dig up funny little stories from when we were both young and foolish. I learn more about Brendon in that afternoon that I’ve learnt about him in our entire time together so far.

For the first time since I’ve known him, he talks about his family, and he lets me ask questions about them. I’m careful and considerate to not press on any sore spots. It’s certainly a sensitive topic for him.

“So your parents are still together?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip.

He keeps his eyes fixated on the road and selfishly, I dislike the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses because I can’t see his expression.

“As far as I know,” he answers.

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“I haven’t seen them since I left home.”

My heart aches a little for him. Maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe he truly isn’t bothered about it but I know Brendon well enough by now to know that more often than not, when he says he doesn’t care about something, he usually does. He usually cares a lot.

“Do you want to see them?” I ask him.

“That doesn’t matter,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulder. “Because I know for a fact that they don’t want to see me.”

“You don’t know that,” I say soothingly, placing a reassuring hand upon his thigh.

“Trust me, Gracie,” he says, voice a little tight, “I do.”

I remove my hand and sit back in my seat, folding my arms across my chest. “Your little sisters,” I speak up gently, broaching the subject with care, “how old would they be now?”

He thinks for a second. “Em’s 20, Soph will be almost nineteen and Jenny’s... Jesus, Jenny would be thirteen now.”

I stare out of the window for a moment thinking about a particular thought that I don’t plan on speaking aloud, but B just dips his sunglasses and gives me a singular look and it comes toppling off of my lips. “Don’t you think it’s wrong that you’re dating someone who’s virtually the same age as your sister?”

“No,” he answers with certainty. “Look, Gracie, I don’t give a fuck, okay? You’re nineteen. You’re overage. You’re only seven years younger than me. If we were thirty five and twenty eight, people wouldn’t give a shit. So why are they so worked up over nineteen and twenty six?”

He’s right - I know he is. “So you don’t care?” I ask once more for some final reassurance.

“I don’t give two fucks. I love you and that’s all that matters. Let people talk if they want to. We won’t let them get to us.” He reaches out for my hand and I lock our fingers. “Till the end, remember?” he reminds me.

“Till the end, B.”

 

***

 

We’re rolling through some small town that looks remarkably like home. Everybody that we pass walking on the pavement looks like they live simply and without fuss. The expense of Brendon’s car catches their eye and they ogle us like we’re movie stars. When Brendon pulls into a bar’s parking lot and switches the engine off, I look at him. Is there a particular reason that we’ve stopped here? Does he recognise this town?

“Come on,” is all he says, “let’s get a drink.”

As we get out of the car, I walk around the bonnet and take his hand in mine. “Do you know where we are?” I ask him.

“Haven’t got a clue,” he responds, and I take him at his word.

I take a hold of his wrist to look at his watch. It’s ten in the evening. We’ve been driving for so long that it’s hard to believe that this morning, we woke up in Tommy’s apartment. It feels like years have passed since then.

The bar is bustling with life and understandably so. We gently wrestle our way through chattering bodies to get to the bar and Brendon orders two diet cokes. Neither of us are in the mood to drink - not that we could anyway - I’m underage with no ID and he needs to stay so er in case we need to make a swift getaway.

We find a little table in the corner of the room and keep close to one another in the small booth. He runs his hands through my hair whilst whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I smile and dip my head, letting my hair fall across my face and I sheepishly sip at my drink. Finally, I feel far enough away from Tommy and from our terrible, unforgivable past. It really does feel like we can start over, but not in a town like this. It’s far too small. We need a big city - they’re far more intimate. Nobody would take the time to get to know us in a busy, bustling city and that’s exactly what we need. We need anonymity.

I don’t know exactly what I want our future to be. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I want to be with Brendon forever - I can’t imagine ever loving anybody else the way that I have grown to love him. Yet similarly, I cannot picture a conventional future with him. A white picket fence and a dog and children running around at our ankles doesn’t seem like our style. Perhaps I’m just struggling because I’m still so young but I truly can’t ever seen myself changing my mind. I know that it won’t be, but right now, it feels like we’ll be like this forever. Me in my Converse and ripped jeans and him in his leather jacket. I want to grow old with him, but at the same time, I can’t imagine us ever ageing past our current selves.

“Whatcha thinking about, G?” he asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

I shrug my shoulders. “The future, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about the future,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to my temple. “Just live in the now.”

“Easier said than done.”

As I’m taking another sip of my drink, Brendon lets two words slip out from beneath his breath.

“Holy shit.”

I look up and find his eyes fixated on the door, and a group of around five thirty-somethings who are entering the bar. Two men, one with deep skin and a gleeful smile and another, deeply tanned with golden hair to match, laugh loudly about something or other as they step over the threshold. The latter looks like some sort of Grecian God, and, by following Brendon’s gaze, I notice that this is the one off whom my boyfriend can’t take his eyes.

“B,” I start, “you okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

The blonde man stops laughing with his friend and as he’s scanning the bar, presumable for somewhere to sit, he clocks Brendon and he just stops. Freezes. He looks like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

With trembling hands, Brendon pushes himself up from the table, knocking over his glass in the process. Dark liquid spills over the wood.

“Sh-shit,” he says, stumbling over his words. “I... I need some air.”

He staggers out of our booth and makes a beeline for the door.

“Brendon, wait!” I call after him. A waitress comes over with paper towels to clear up the spilled drink. I thank her quickly before rushing out of the bar after my wayward boyfriend.

I find him just outside the door, on the ground, back pressed against the wall, head in his hands. Jesus. What the fuck is going on here?

“Hey,” I soothe, placing my hands upon his shoulders, but he jolts when I do so and flinches away.

“P-please don’t touch me,” he begs quietly. I feel so helpless. His hands are shaking.

“What’s going on?” I plead with him. “B, please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

“I need you to go back inside,” he manages to choke out. He still won’t look at me. “Please, Gracie. I just need some space.”

I don’t want to leave him, but I really don’t want to make him feel worse. As I stand up, the man with the golden hair comes outside. He looks at Brendon on the floor and then at me.

“Brendon,” he says softly. His voice is like butter. “Get up.”

“Gracie,” my boyfriend says to me. “Go inside. Please.”

“But I-”

“ _Please_.”

I don’t have a choice here. Reluctantly, I head back into the bar. I return to our little booth and I sit there in silence, chewing on the skin around my fingernails anxiously. I just want to know how Brendon knows that man. Does he pose a threat to us right now? And if he does, is Brendon okay? Fuck. Is Brendon okay?

I wait for a very long time. Finally, after what feels like hours, but has probably only been about twenty minutes, Brendon returns. His eyes are a little red. Has he been crying? He doesn’t come all the way over to the booth. He kind of just enters the bar, spots me, and beckons me over. I go to him and we leave, heading back to the car in silence. Once my door closes, I look at him. I ask the singular question that has been burning through my brain ever since I saw Brendon’s expression when he entered the bar.

“Who was that man?”

“That was Anthony,” he says. It’s like it pains him to say his name aloud.

Anger bubbles up inside of me. It isn’t an all-consuming fury, it’s just a slowly simmering frustration that manifests into words that spill forth from my lips.

“Listen,” I begin seriously, “I’m sick of this. All these secrets that you keep from me. You know almost everything about me and I feel like I know jack shit about you. So tell me,” I demand, staring right into his eyes. “Tell me everything. From the very beginning.”

“Everything?” he echoes.

“Everything.”

So he does. We sit there in the bar’s parking lot, engine off, seatbelts unbuckled.

He starts from the very beginning - and he tells me everything.


	28. Anthony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you lovely lot. 
> 
> I’m sorry this update took a little longer than usual. This chapter is special to me. It took me a while because I wanted to make sure that I got it spot on. There’s some pieces and passages in here that I consider to be some of the best things I have ever written and I’m really so proud of it. 
> 
> I’ll warn you now this one is very sad and writing the end to this was the first time I have ever cried proper tears whilst writing this fic. I’ll leave it at that. 
> 
> As always, I am so grateful for your feedback and your kudos. It means the world. Keep on being wonderful and I’ll speak to you all soon. 
> 
> All my love,  
> Olivia

Seminary school was simultaneously Brendon’s Heaven and his Hell. It was fine for the first few months - pleasantly charming and simple. It was so detached from reality that it felt like the real world didn’t exist at all and Brendon could pour all of his energy into his studies. He completely fell in love with the church that nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Praying helped him to let go of every single demon from his past, one by one, until he felt completely and utterly cleansed. Truly, he was the happiest he had been in a long, long time.

He wrote to Father McGregor every week and regularly heard back. The church was the same as always, Father told him in his letters, and the congregation often asked after him, to see how he was getting on. It warmed Brendon’s heart to hear that people still cared about him long after he was gone and it gave him just a glimmer of hope that perhaps, it was the same situation at home. Years on, he still missed Tommy. He often went to confession to ask for forgiveness for what he put that boy through and it was always granted, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He wondered if his family ever thought of him. He wondered if they missed him as much as he missed them, and he wished they knew how sorry he was, for everything. He should have stayed. He should have tried to explain. He wanted nothing more than to just rewind time and fix all the things, and beings, that he’d broken.

Ever since he was little, Brendon had always thrived off of the energy of others and it was no different here. Whilst everything and everybody was tamer here than they had been in high school, Brendon quickly established himself as one of the stronger characters. He was funny and clever and kind and made friends easily. So yeah, for a while, things were great. He finally felt like he had his place. And then he met Anthony Winters.

Anthony was in his penultimate year and a few years Brendon’s senior. He was tall and tan with gorgeous blonde hair and a flashy smile to match. Brendon had never come across a man so beautiful in his entire life. He’d been abstaining from any kind of relationship, naturally, ever since he’d come to live under Father McGregor’s roof, but it was like there was some sort of magnetic pull attached to Anthony, and Brendon just couldn’t stay away. The man had a magical aura that had Brendon completely and utterly entranced. He would sit on the closest table to him in the library without it being obvious, and he’d just watch Anthony study for hours. He learned that he stuck his tongue out a little when he was concentrating and threw his head back and sighed deeply whenever he was frustrated. Brendon was so caught up on him for months, and they’d never even exchanged so much as two words.

At night, Brendon would dream about him. He knew it was sinful. He knew it was wrong. He wished that he could just ignore all of his stupid feelings - that perhaps if he paid them no attention, they’d eventually go away - but every time Anthony walked past him in the corridor, he held his breath. He was so unbelievably into him. And to make matters even worse, he seemed so fucking nice. Brendon would watch as he held open doors and cracked jokes with an easy smile, like it was all effortless to him. He was so kind. He was so funny. Brendon wanted to know what he looked like when he slept. He wanted to hear how his name would sound as a whisper upon Anthony’s slick tongue. He wanted to run his tongue down the man’s tan chest. He was sure that he would taste like sea salt and pure sin.

Their first little exchange was in the library during the springtime of Brendon’s first year. As Brendon had reached out to get a particular book off the shelf, a large hand with slender fingers had landed on top of his. Brendon would have recognised that hand anywhere. He had it memorised. Burned into his brain.

“Go on,” Anthony had offered, taking his hand away. “You got there first.”

Brendon had gone all wide-eyed and forgotten every single word in the English language. His expression had made Anthony laugh. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done but he wanted to keep doing it for the rest of his life if it meant that he would always get to hear that gorgeous laugh.

Eventually, Brendon had managed to push out a timid “thank you” and he went up to his room and cursed himself for hours for being such a fucking baby. If Anthony now thought he was an absolute idiot, then he couldn’t blame him. He fell asleep that night with the undeniable heartache of one who is completely in love with somebody utterly unattainable.

Anthony, however, had not believed Brendon to be an idiot. He’d found him rather endearing, and he told Brendon as such the next day when he cornered him after lunch. Brendon could feel the scarlet scorching his cheeks and he’d tried to hurry away when Anthony’s strong hand had caught him by the bicep. The grip that the taller, golden man had held onto him with was enough to make Brendon go weak in the knees, but he’d somehow managed to keep his composure. When Anthony suggested they hang out sometime, Brendon couldn’t say yes fast enough. And thus, it began.

It started with a couple of innocent study dates, often spent in near silence because they took place in the library. However, the two young men would steal glances across to one another and occasionally, Anthony would nudge Brendon’s foot beneath the table and the reciprocation of attraction became apparent. It was a silent love affair for a very long time, with neither one of them ever feeling like they could acknowledge it aloud. It was a terrible position to be in. They’d been inexplicably and undeniably drawn to one another, against their will, and yet it was forbidden. But to Brendon, loving Anthony felt as natural as breathing. Why did he have to be robbed of something that felt so right? Was he even in the correct profession if loving this man felt like what he as truly meant to do? He spent a lot of nights in his room wracked with anxiety and guilt and frustration and he knew that he had to make a choice. It was the church or Anthony. There was no hesitation in choosing.

He showed up at Anthony’s door one night at two in the morning and the moment that it opened and the tall man stood there in just white boxer briefs, Brendon pushed him back into the room and closed the door behind the both of them and Anthony wasted no time in pinning him up against it and they kissed until their lungs were screaming for oxygen.

It all happened so fast. It was rushed and scary and exhilarating and it all felt so, so wrong but so fucking right. After it was all over, they lay there, side by side, naked bodies slick with sweat, staring up at the ceiling. Their chests heaved out desperate breaths and Brendon knew that here in Anthony’s arms was fast becoming his favourite place in the world.

Their secret late night exchanges became a regular occurrence throughout that long, unrelenting summer. Looking back, Brendon recalled it all as a blur. It was the heady rush of second love, something not often talked about in books or the movies, surprisingly, because it was undoubtedly stronger and much more visceral than first love by a mile. There is something sofearless about falling in love for the second time. There’s none of the anxiety that comes along with first love - no awkward, fumbling hands, no jittery giggling, no late nights spent wondering how to respond to their texts. If you’ve done it all before, then you can dive in head first with absolutely no reservations or hesitations. And equally, if your first love ended in heartbreak, then you’ll know that the first cut is always the deepest and whilst subsequent ones that follow always hurt, they’re accompanied with a certain sort of numbness that dulls down the pain and makes it somewhat bearable. But Brendon was about to find out that his heart had never been broken before. He was about to get his first cut. And fuck, it was going to hurt.

The night before the semester ended and all of the young men at the school were due to return home for those last few weeks of dwindling summertime, Brendon and Anthony shared one last night together. It went in exactly the same way that all the other nights had and never further. Brendon had always tried to push it. He’d tried to kiss Anthony after they’d had sex, but the man always turned his head away and explained that he wasn’t ready. Brendon had respected the other man’s boundaries for the longest time, but it was beginning to strain them. It had never been anything more than sex, but it had felt like so much more. The little smiles to one another from across the classroom, footsie under the library tables, the sweet nothings that Anthony would whisper in his ear, but only whilst he was deep in a post-orgasm haze. To Brendon, it had meant everything and fuck, he hoped it had felt the same to Anthony, but deep down, he knew. He knew that for this older man, it had only ever been about the sex.

So, on that last night before the end of the school year, Brendon confronted him about it - and it hadn’t been pretty. There were tears. There were raised voices. There was a bubble of anxiety rising up from Brendon’s stomach into his throat until he felt like he couldn’t speak. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony never admitted his feelings at all. He avoided all of Brendon’s questions, cleverly answering them indirectly and manipulating the situation so that Brendon felt like it had all been his fault. Anthony was right. He had been pressuring him. He was invading his space. Looking back at it now, Brendon could see Anthony’s gaslighting for what it was, but at the time, he had felt like the worst person in the entire world.

The next morning, Brendon caught Anthony by the arm before he stepped onto a coach bound for the man’s hometown, halfway across the country. Brendon didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he could say anything. His entire world felt like it was crumbling around him. Even breathing felt hard. And standing here in front of Anthony, he was reminded of why that was. He was so in love with this man. Through all his faults, through all his schemes, he was still so completely in love with him.

“So is this goodbye?” Brendon asked, choking out the words. He couldn’t look Anthony in the eyes anymore. The eyes that had once meant everything to him were now impossible to stare into. Brendon knew he’d cry if he dared to look.

“There was never a hello, Brendon,” Anthony said plainly and that cut deep. Brendon felt as if he had been winded. He was unable to speak. All he could was stand there, completely numb.

“This was never a thing,” Anthony sighs. “You built it up in your head to be more than it ever was. Did you seriously think this would ever work out? That we’d just run away from school and live happily ever after? Was that what you thought would happen?”

Brendon opened his mouth to speak, to fight his own corner, but no words would come out. He never had trouble with standing up for himself. He never had trouble finding something to say. But Anthony was different. Anthony had this indescribable power over him, like a dagger dangling over Brendon’s head, threatening to cut the wire by which it precariously hung at any given moment. Brendon closed his mouth again without saying a word and Anthony continued.

“I never wanted you,” he said. “Your smile just tricked me into thinking I did for a while. But hey, it was fun. You were fun. Are fun.”

When Anthony placed his hand upon Brendon’s shoulder in a very ‘bro’ like fashion, the latter shrugged it off. Their entire escapade had had Brendon’s heart feeling as if it were as fragile as a piece of paper and Anthony had just come along and crumpled it up without a care in the world.

“Text me, okay? I’ll see you around, B.”

As Anthony casually walked away like nothing had happened, Brendon stood there, motionless, with bitter tears of confusion, anger and hurt stinging his vision, and he only had one thought burning through his brain, louder than anything else, demanding to be acknowledged.

Winters suited him down to a T. What a perfectly apt surname for a man so cold.

On the coach journey home, Brendon allowed himself to break. He was grateful that it wasn’t very busy and there was nobody sat in any seats nearby to see him cry. He felt like such a fucking fool. He’d allowed this man in, let him see beneath his demons and his clothes. He’d given him every fucking part of him that he had to offer. If he’d said they should run away tomorrow, Brendon would have gone. He would have followed him to the ends of the Earth, whilst Anthony was probably driving down some highway right now, earphones in, music on, and Brendon would be just a distant memory. He’d just become some boy that he secretly fucked in seminary school, whilst to Brendon, Anthony would forever be engrained in his memory, seared into his mind like some awful recurring nightmare he desperately wanted to forget.

He’d never been more glad to see that quaint little church he now called home. He’d never needed to see Father McGregor more than he did right now. He was surprised that he didn’t find him in the main chapel but thought nothing of it. He continued out to the back, to the little cottage that made him feel so safe and warm and the sadness that ached deep within his hollow heart eased a little with the click of the door unlocking. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Life is funny. It sometimes deals us cards that we never, ever want in our hand, but what else can we do but play them when they’re all that we have? Finding Father McGregor crumpled on the kitchen floor was a card that Brendon never, ever, ever wanted. He’d thrown his bags aside and rushed to the man lying there, and he wondered had Father looked this frail when he had left for school? He was sure that he hadn’t. Brendon hadn’t even been aware that anything was wrong.

His hands were trembling and a string of frantic, desperate questions fell from his lips. What was happening? Who should he call? Was he sick? Was he hurt? What the fuck was happening?

“Brendon, Brendon,” Father murmured in that soft Irish voice that Brendon associated with safety. “Slow down. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright!” the man blurted out, although right now, he seemed much more of a boy than a man. A child, even. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not right now when he needed Father most.

“I’ve been sick for a long time now,” Father sighed softly. “Since before you left for school. I’ve known this was coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brendon begged. “I would have stayed. I would have looked after you.”

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you,” Father McGregor whispered. Brendon noted how deathly pale he was. No, no, no. He refused to believe this. He was still on the coach home. This was all just some terrible dream. “You had to go,” the priest continued. “You had to find yourself. You had to grow up. Who am I to hold you back from that?”

Brendon could feel his bottom lip trembling. “Who am I without you? You’ve taught me everything that I know.”

The priest gently took Brendon’s hand in his own and calmly, in a soft voice that was barely above a whisper, he explained what was going to happen next. He’d been anticipating this for a while and he knew that when it happened, his parish would get passed over to a new priest and this church - his home - would be the home of somebody else. Selfishly, Father McGregor didn’t want that.

“The only person that I want to have my church is you, son,” he said. “I don’t want it going to some stranger. Not when I have you.”

But of course, the dilemma they faced was that Brendon still had a good few years of seminary school to complete before he could be initiated into the priesthood, and they needed a solution, quick. Father explained that he had spoken to some people, and he had pulled some strings and cut some corners, and by some grace of God, had reached a compromise whereby Brendon stayed here and became the priest of the parish. Nobody would know. Nobody would ever find out. If anybody from school ever queried it, he was to lie and say he was continuing his studies alongside practising. Brendon didn’t understand why he had to lie about that - he could do exactly that, study and work - he could juggle them both. But apparently it wasn’t that easy.

“I don’t have time to explain all of the details,” Father said sadly, and that’s when it hit Brendon like a freight train that they really didn’t have that much time left together at all. His heart hurt so much. It hurt more than when Anthony had said such cutting words to him. It hurt more than when he’d kissed Tommy’s forehead and left him without looking back. It had never, ever hurt more than it was hurting right now.

Tears ran down his cheeks, reaching his lips and tasting like bitter salt. He held Father close to him. He made sure he was comfortable.

“I- I can still ca-call someone,” Brendon sobbed. “We still have time. I can fix this, Father. I can fix it. Let me do this for you.”

Father McGregor looked at him sadly. “Shh,” he soothed. “This is more than alright. You’re here now. This is God’s will. Let it be.”

But Brendon couldn’t just let it be. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t time. He still had so much left to tell Father. He had to tell him about what he’d learned, about the friends he’d made, about... everything. They needed more time. They needed so much more time.

“Dad... please...” he cried. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Of course you can,” Father smiled. “You’ve made me so proud. Do you know that?”

Brendon nodded, because he did know. He needed time. Goodbyes weren’t even something he felt able to contemplate but they were happening. It was funny how the timing of this had all worked out. It was almost too perfect, like something out of a movie. It was like God had known how important these last few minutes they had together would be. Father was right. It was His Will.

“I just want to... to keep on making you proud,” Brendon cried.

Father nodded. He was weaker now. His breathing was much shallower. “And you will,” he said. “Whatever you do, Brendon, no matter what - I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

He slipped away so perfectly, like God had gently lifted his soul out of his body and left his physical form there sleeping in the arms of his almost son. Once Brendon knew he was definitely gone, he sobbed and sobbed until his body felt broken. It was hours before he called anybody. He didn’t know who to call, or how to speak. Everything felt so numb and wrong.

The following weeks were the hardest of his life. The funeral nearly broke him, and if it weren’t for the familiar faces of this little town’s congregation there beside him, offering shoulders to cry upon and hands for support, he was sure that it would have.

Settling into his role as a priest was equally as difficult. He didn’t feel qualified. He didn’t feel confident. He couldn’t do this the way Father McGregor did, with such charm and wit. He missed him so much. The little cottage felt so empty without that friendly Irish priest bumbling around. But Brendon knew that time would heal his wounds and indeed it did. With each day that passed, he grew a little stronger, and with every Sunday mass that he delivered, he felt a little taller. He could do this. He just had to have an ounce of the faith in himself that Father McGregor had had in him every single day.

So he carried on, with his head held high, and for the most part, he was so good at what he did. He was so faithful to God and so, so determined to do everything right and never make any mistakes. Above all, he wanted to make Father McGregor proud. And for the longest time, he did just that - right up until the day that he laid his eyes upon Miss Gracie Monroe.


	29. The Final Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again...
> 
> I’m just going to apologise for this chapter now. It’s a bit of a wild ride. Well. That’s a bit of an understatement. I don’t want to spoil anything. Just read. 
> 
> I want to mark this with a trigger warning, but I’m not too sure what kind of trigger warning it would need. So all I will say is approach with caution and within the first sentence of the second part, you’ll kind of know what’s going on and you can stop reading if you’re uncomfortable.
> 
> I love you all so much. Thank you for your endless support. 
> 
> All my love,  
> Olivia

“So now you know.”

I sit there in silence for a very long time, just processing everything. So everything about Tommy having some girlfriend whom he adored and Brendon snatching her out from beneath his nose was all a pack of lies. I should have guessed. I knew it sounded too much like the plot of some teenage romcom to be true.

But everything that followed had shocked me to the core. More than anything, what rocks me is that he was never a proper priest. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Say something, Gracie,” he begs. “Please.”

I stare blankly ahead, out of the windscreen into the blackness of the night. “You’re a fraud,” I say. I can’t even look at him.

“Darling, no,” he replies and I can hear the hurt in his voice. “It was never like that. I had no choice. It was what Father wanted.”

I look into his eyes and I see for the first time just how truly wounded he is and how much he’s been through. He’s completely broken. And the worst part of it all is that I’m just a girl. I don’t think I could ever fix him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I dip my head so he doesn’t see me cry.

He takes my hands in his own and shushes me. “What have you got to be sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “You’ve just been through so much, and being with me hasn’t exactly been the easiest thing in the world, has it? Sometimes I think things would so much easier if we’d never met.”

“Hey, hey. No,” he insists and he places two fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up to look at him. “You are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. After Anthony, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever be able to love anybody again. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to trust anybody again. But you came along and changed everything. Now that I’ve got to know the man that I am when I’m with you, I don’t think I ever want to go back to being the man that I was before you.”

I drink in every single one of his words like they’re ecstasy. I want to cry. Never in my life did I think I’d experience this kind of love - this love that completely consumes you and makes you feel like you’re floating on air. I always figured that I would stumble haphazardly through my twenties, having casual affairs here and there, and then eventually, I’d find somebody who I could tolerate, and maybe they’d make me laugh from time to time, and that would be it. I never entertained the idea of a love like this, because honestly, I thought it only existed in the movies. But Brendon has proved all of my theories wrong. He took my idea of ‘love’ and crushed it in fist, like clay, and then he remodelled it into the shape of him. I understand what he means. Now that I know life with him, I don’t want to ever imagine it without him.

I take his face into my hands and I press my lips onto his and sigh into the kiss. He places his hands gently upon my hips, like I’m a paper doll that he doesn’t want to ruin. In this singular moment, I feel safer than ever before. I feel calm. I feel loved.

Our kiss progresses no further. We’re both absolutely exhausted so I clamber into the backseat and lay down. Brendon wants me to get a proper night’s sleep, so he insists upon sleeping up front so that I have the room to stretch out and rest. I wrap my arms around my own body and I close my eyes. My body feels so heavy.

“B?” I murmur just before sleep takes me.

I hear him hum distantly in response.

“I love you.”

I don’t remember him saying it back, but I know that he must have, because he always says it back. And I know that he always will.

 

***

 

It’s the hand over my mouth that wakes me. Immediately, my eyes are open and I’m alert and the moment that I realise that this isn’t Brendon’s hand, I’m fucking terrified.

I can see him still in the front seat. His head is lolled back and he looks like he’s sleeping but something sinister stirring inside of me tells me that he’s not.

I wrestle with the foreign body that’s trying to pull me out of the car. My heart has never raced so fast. What is going on? What the fuck is going on? When I turn, I see him, with the expression of a man so determined to get his way that he’ll stop at nothing until he does. I recognise his face. I feel so sick. It’s Tommy.

I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. Tommy’s strong. He tugs me out of the car and I scream against his hand that’s locked over my mouth, muffling the sound.

“Just... fucking... behave!” he shouts in between huffed breaths as he drags me, kicking and screaming to his car. Why didn’t Brendon wake up? Is he dead? Fuck. Is he dead? Am I going to die too? I start sobbing. This is all just some nightmare. This can’t be happening. It can’t. It can’t.

I’m shoved roughly into the backseat of a car that is unfamiliar to me and I try to scramble for the door but it’s closed and locked before I can make my escape. Tommy walks around to the front of the car and climbs into the front seat and I don’t know what to do. I can see Brendon still and I try to silently communicate with him, tears streaming down my face. Wake up, I plead with him in my mind. Please wake up.

“Tommy,” I cry. “Why are you doing this? What’s going on? What did you do to Brendon?”

He looks at me through the rearview mirror but he doesn’t respond. He just starts to drive. I scream and claw at the window. He’s not fucking taking me away from Brendon. I won’t let him do this.

I kick furiously at the window, trying to break it, even though we’re speeding away by now and in a few moments, we’ll be long gone. I can’t see straight through my tears. “You asshole!” I scream and I reach around to the front to try and stop him. I tug at his hair, his clothes. He swerves harshly as a result and I’m thrown violently to the opposite side of the car. Pain sears through the left side of my head as it makes contact with the car door. I heave out desperate breaths. Tommy speaks.

“Sit still and shut the fuck up,” he demands, in a voice so frightening, I can’t help but comply. I’ve seen him kill someone before. I know that he would most likely not hesitate to do the same to me if I push him too far.

I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin upon them. I shiver and I cry. I’m so worried about Brendon, and I’m so fucking scared that I’ll never see him again. I can’t even form coherent thoughts anymore because fear blazes through and sets fire to every single one of them. I wish Tommy would just explain, so I try asking him again.

“Tommy,” I beg. If we weren’t in a car, I’d be on my knees - I’m that desperate for answers. “Please. Talk to me. What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

I can see the man’s eyes in the mirror. They burn with that same determination as when he first grabbed me, but now they’re laced with a certain kind of sadness. Maybe, just maybe, I can get through to him. After all, he’s no stranger. Once upon a time, we were close.

“Listen,” I try, “we can talk about this. Whatever’s going on - we can fix it. It’s going to be okay, Tommy. I’ll help you. Please just... just talk to me.”

I’ve exhausted all my options. Sniffling pitifully, I wipe my tears on my wrist. I’m so scared. All I can do is sit here, body wracked with indescribable, unimaginable fear.

I stay quiet for a little while but I’ve never been able to just sit back and accept a situation if I don’t think that it’s right. I’ve also always been incapable of watching a person crumble before my very eyes if I feel like there’s something I can do about it. I don’t know exactly what Tommy’s going through, I don’t know how much of his life and his trauma that I have missed, but I now know about everything that happened with Brendon and how much that must have affected him, and with this new found knowledge, I try again, and I’ll keep trying and trying until I make some sort of breakthrough.

“Tommy, please,” I start, my voice cracking, “just... pull over. Explain what’s going on.”

I open my mouth to continue but he cuts me off.

“Shut up! Just shut up! I can’t take it anymore. You need to stop. I need... I need quiet!”

Harshly, he swerves over to the side again and my shoulder slams into the car seat. The car brakes and he starts fumbling around down in the storage compartment between his seat and the passenger one. That’s when I see it, and my heart jumps up into my throat. He has a gun.

I am so completely consumed by fear that I feel like I can’t move. He has a bottle of clear liquid in his hand and a white rag and he dampens the cloth with whatever is in the bottle. When he grabs me, I wrestle against him. I kick. I scream. He covers my mouth with the rag and within a couple of seconds, my eyes close and everything fades to black.

 

***

 

Back at the bar, an hour or so before the sunrise, Brendon stirs, head pounding like he’s gone out the night before and thoroughly fucked himself over - but he hasn’t drunk a thing. With aching limbs, he turns his body to check on Gracie in the backseat, but she’s not there and he’s suddenly completely awake, his entire body on alert. Turning back to the front, he notices the small piece of white paper on the front seat. He picks it up and he reads the location scrawled in nervy handwriting. Beneath that is a note.

 

If you want to see her again, come find me.

Let’s settle this once and for all.

Yours,

T

 

Brendon doesn’t hesitate. He twists the keys in the ignition and the tyres squeal with the burn of friction as he spins the car around as fast as he can, speeding down the highway, in pursuit of the only person who matters anymore. His girl. Gracie.


	30. Two Times That Brendon Didn’t Get Love Right, And The One Time That He Absolutely Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful people. 
> 
> I can’t believe I’m really posting the penultimate chapter to this fanfiction. That doesn’t feel real. I’ve never been able to stick with one idea for so long and I can’t believe that I’m going to have actually completed my first ever story. Doesn’t feel real.
> 
> This one is short but that was the way I always wanted it to be. I hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this one. 
> 
> I’ll see you again very soon for the big finale...
> 
> All my love,   
> Olivia

Brendon Urie had been in love exactly three times in his life. 

The first time was when he was very young, perhaps even too young, some might say, to truly understand what love is. Ultimately, that was the reason it didn’t work out. They were just two boys, drawn to one another in the fiercest way, but pulled apart by the fear of things becoming too heavy too fast. Brendon had always experienced emotions strongly. He still did, even now. But when he was a teenager, naturally, everything was heightened and thus, his first relationship crashed and burned like a getaway car, spinning out of control. The thing worth noting, however, was he was the one who’d set fire to it in the first place, and he’d flung himself out and ran for his life whilst his lover was left to deal with the aftermath.

At the time, it was all he felt like he could do. He’d loved Tommy Foxfield once - he really had - but towards the end, he felt like he was suffocating. Something just wasn’t right there. It was great, and then it wasn’t. Sometimes that’s how the story goes. But even now, Brendon spent countless nights lying awake, reminiscing on the early years, because they really had been so wonderful. Tommy was wonderful.Occasionally, he had smiled in a certain way or laughed like nobody was listening, and Brendon’s heart had skipped beats. Once upon a time, he’d truly believed that he would be with Tommy forever. His innocent teenage heart didn’t want to entertain the idea of loving anybody else besides the boy with the floppy brown hair and endless blue eyes. But then things had changed. They changed too much. They changed beyond recognition. And that was the first time that Brendon got love wrong.

The second time was a few years later, when Brendon had grown, and believed that he had a better understanding of the world simply because he’d lived alone in it. When he first met Anthony Winters, he was at his happiest, which some might believe boded well for a healthy relationship. He felt secure and safe within his own head for the first time in a long time, but the tall, bronzed man with the golden hair was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he had no intentions of contributing to Brendon’s safety or security. Nonetheless, Brendon fell. He fell hard. There was something so magnetic about Anthony that he couldn’t stay away. He was like a moth drawn to the flame, and Anthony Winters burned brighter and harder than any of the stars in the sky.

Perhaps that was what made everything feel so chaotic. Without realising, Brendon had elevated his second lover to unworthy heights. He’d put him upon the highest of pedestals and worshipped him like a God. Anthony could give him five percent of his energy, but to Brendon, it would feel like a million. When it all crumbled down, it felt like the world was ending. Everything had felt so intense when they were together. Every kiss had the force of a thousand suns burning behind it. Every touch was electric. That summer afternoon when Anthony had walked away was like somebody had turned off all the lights and left Brendon in the dark. The blackness that engulfed his heart that day never truly went away. Now and again, he’d catch sight of a tall, blonde stranger and do a double take or he’d hear a laugh that sounded so familiar and his entire body would feel numb. Looking back with a refreshed perspective, Brendon knew that Anthony was no good for him. He wasn’t sure that Anthony was good for anybody. Anthony was manipulative and Anthony was mean, but that hadn’t stopped Brendon from wanting him any less. He’d been so fucking in love with him. All he’d wanted was to mean as much to Anthony as Anthony meant to him. But he didn’t. Anthony was incapable of it. Of loving Brendon like that. And Brendon wasn’t exactly sure why that was the case but what he was sure of was that that was the second time that he got love wrong.

Gracie Monroe had caught him off guard. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to ever come into his life, but she had, and he knew the moment he laid eyes upon her that she was his forever person. Without even saying a word to her, he just knew. It wasn’t anything to do with how she looked, although she was stunning - it was an invisible connection that bonded them, that drew him to her. She was unparalleled when compared with his previous lovers. She had this certain something that they had both lacked. She was a force to be reckoned with.

As he got to know her, he understood why he had been pulled towards her so forcefully in the first place. She had the biggest heart. She loved him with everything that she had, no matter what he told her. She supported him through his choices, upheld him through his downfalls, called him out on his mistakes. She knew exactly what he was thinking, even if he never said it aloud, and she could sense when he just needed to be held. She was strong and witty and cheeky and made him laugh more than anybody in his life ever had before. She stood beside him as his equal, through everything. She made him feel like a better man. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew that he wanted to marry her. One day, he wanted to start a family with her. When she was ready. She was everything he’d been looking for, all rolled up into one pretty little feisty blonde package. To him, the fact that she was younger had never been an issue. She was of consenting age, and that was all that mattered. Her mind matched up to his, in a way that no other person’s ever had, so what did age matter? Love rarely makes sense. You’re drawn to people in this world that you never expect to be drawn to, but that doesn’t make the love any less worthy.

Brendon knew that Grace was his soulmate. He knew that he’d be standing by her side til kingdom come, watching her shine and flourish and continue to make him proud in the same way that she did every single day - just by being her. Every time she smiled at him, he knew. He knew that this was the last time he would ever be in love, and that it would last forever, because it was the one time that he had absolutely and undeniably got love a thousand percent right.


	31. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you lovely lot. Here we are. The final chapter. 
> 
> I can’t thank you all enough for the support you’ve given me on this fanfiction. It means the absolute world. I started this story to impress a girl that I had a crush on and it ended up turning into something so much bigger than that and that’s because of you. It’s not been an easy ride. There’s been some bumps along the road but ultimately, I am so happy that I was able to stay motivated and stick with a story idea until the bitter end. This is the first time I have ever completed a full-length story before and I still can’t quite believe that I’ve pulled it off. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this final installment in Gracie and Brendon’s story. Watch this space, however. I have an alternate ending planned that I may or may not post and an epilogue too, but I might keep that idea stored up in my head... We shall see.
> 
> I love every single one of you and I hope you’ll all stick around for my next Brendon fanfiction which is already in the works. It’s very different to Forgive Me Father, but if you’ve enjoyed this, I think you’ll like it. I aim to get it started very soon. 
> 
> Just a TRIGGER WARNING here for anybody who needs it. There is a suicide in this chapter. I don’t want to give too much away, and it is something that happens very quickly - I consciously chose not to drag it out because there was no need to - but just be aware that that is something that does happen. Your mental health should always come first.
> 
> I think that’s it from me. Thank you all so much once again for joining me on this little journey. It’s been so much fun! 
> 
> Until next time,  
> Olivia

My entire body feels like it’s being weighed down by a ton of bricks. I open my eyes slowly, stirring, my head swimming. I’m still in a car, but it’s not Brendon’s car. For a moment, I’m thoroughly confused, until my eyes land upon the man in the front seat, pointing a gun at me, his eyes ablaze with terror and his hands trembling. Fuck.

I’ve never stared down the barrel of a gun before. It seems endless - just this small, narrow tunnel to this endless abyss. It’s terrifying. The object itself isn’t scary - it’s what it can do. In a split second. I want to cry but I’m too numb. Unimaginable fear consumes my entire body. I’m rooted to the spot. I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes away from his. Is this it? Is this how the story ends? What if I’m not ready?

“Gracie,” he whispers, and his eyebrows furrow. “Why do you look so scared?”

There’s something so unhinged about him. He’s lost his fucking mind. A line tear slides down my cheek and my bottom lip begins to tremble. I’m so afraid. I don’t want to die.

“I never wanted things to end like this. They don’t have to end like this,” Tommy insists. “Brendon will be here soon. And... and we’re gonna talk about all of this. We’re gonna fix it.”

I can’t describe the relief that surges through me when says Brendon is coming. I have never wanted to see another human being so much in my entire life. I sit there in complete silence, not daring to say a word. It’s clear that Tommy is teetering on a knife’s edge. If I so much as breathe wrong, it could all be over.

“Do you hate me, Gracie?” Tommy asks me, his own eyes welling up with tears. “I never wanted you to hate me. You’re so lovely. I don’t want to kill you, y’know?”

All I can do is cry harder, but silently, tears running down my cheeks continuously. I think about my mom. I think about home. I think about Brendon. I silently tell him that I love him and hope that telepathically, somehow, he’ll get the message.

I can’t stand the silence anymore. It’s eating me alive. I open my mouth and croak out the pitiful question that is wracking my brain.

“Why are you doing this, Tommy?”

He looks at me so sadly. I feel such pity for him. How damaged must he be to hold me at gunpoint like this? Somebody he once trusted. Am I responsible for this? Did I betray him?

“I have to,” he answers me. “I have no other choice.”

“You always have a choice,” I tell him and there’s a flash of recognition that flies across his features. For a brief moment, I see the old Tommy.

His ears prick up like a dog’s as he lifts his head, listening intently to something that I can’t hear. In an instant, he changes.

“Out!” he shouts at me. “Out of the car now!”

I don’t hesitate. I open the door and practically fall out of the vehicle and I can see now that we’re at a cliff’s edge. An expanse of empty land stretches out ahead of us and then just behind is a sheer drop down a steep slope, covered in jagged rocks and rough edges. As I glance over, I’m grabbed roughly from behind and I scream, because for a split second, I think that I’m going to fall.

Tommy holds me close to him, one strong arm locked around my waist. I watch as a familiar car emerges out of the trees in the distance and drives into the clearing. It skids to a halt right in front of us and Brendon flings the door wide, his face burning with worry.

I don’t have time to say anything before I feel the cool metal of the gun press up against my temple. Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“Gracie!” Brendon shouts, instinctively rushing forward to me, but Tommy’s shrill cry stops him from coming any closer.

“Take one more step and I swear to God I’ll blow her brains out!” he threatens. I feel so sick. All I can in my mind, over and over again is please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

“Tommy,” Brendon breathes and the name falls off of his lips like a plea. I look into his eyes and the look that I find there is one that I never want to see again. It’s full of pain and fear and guilt. Once again, he looks like he’s failed me. I’m so scared. I don’t want to be without him, and I also don’t want him to be without me.

“Tommy,” he says again, softer this time. Much softer. He doesn’t step any closer, but he does extend a hand. “Tommy. Come on. Let her go. Gracie hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Tommy retorts and he sounds so pained that I feel terrible thinking that I may have put even just an ounce of that pain there. “You want her! And you want to just keep running. Because that’s what you always do, Brendon! You run!”

Brendon looks at him sadly. My face crumples as I begin to cry again. I just want everything to stop.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Tommy,” Brendon says gently. “If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. I was just so scared. I had to go. I couldn’t stay.”

“You gave me no explanation!” Tommy explodes, voice raw with tears. “You just left! You told me you loved me and you left! Do you know what that fucking does to a person?”

“I didn’t,” Brendon says, “but I do now. Tommy, I’m so sorry. Just... let go of Gracie, okay? Step away from the cliff’s edge. Let’s talk about this.”

“We _are_ talking!” the tall man growls. “If you wanna speak, then speak. I’m not letting go of her. If I can’t have you, neither can she.”

So that’s what all this is about. He’s still in love with Brendon. Of course he is. All this time, how could I not have seen this? How could I not have realised? It was right in front of my nose and I was oblivious to it all.

“T, please,” Brendon begs him. “It was so long ago... I don’t know what you want me to say,” he sighs and I wonder if he’s just consigned my life away. I’m so scared. My heart is racing at a million miles per hour.

“Three times, B,” Tommy shouts. “Three times you’ve loved me and left me. Am I not good enough for you, huh? What did I do wrong? I thought we were good - you and me. Well? Fucking answer me!”

He screams the last part and tightens his grip around me. I sob. He presses the gun closer to my head and it rattles a little when he moves it. I know that he’s not bluffing. I know that it’s loaded.

“I never should have treated you the way I did, Tom,” Brendon gulps and tentatively, he takes one step closer to us. Please don’t, I silently beg. Please don’t make him any angrier than he already is. “How did you find us?” B asks him. I’ve been wondering the same thing.

Tommy shrugs. “Tracked your phone. Didn’t think you’d get away that easily, did you? Not after what you did.”

“Tommy,” my boyfriend begins, “you shot that man, remember? Gracie’s completely innocent. We left so I could protect her.”

“Bullshit!” the man with the gun retorts. “You left because that’s what you always do. How long’s it gonna be before you leave Gracie too, huh? Maybe I should just save her the pain of it all by putting her out of her misery now.”

No, I think. No, no, no, please don’t. Tommy, please don’t.

“Tommy, please,” Brendon begs, and I notice the tears in his eyes and the crack in his voice. He’s scared. “Don’t hurt her. This is between me and you. It always has been. Let Gracie go and you can do whatever you want to me. Please.”

Tommy goes very quiet. I wonder if he’s thinking about it - if he’ll actually let me go.

He doesn’t.

“Everything’s falling apart, B,” Tommy says, and his tone has completely changed. He doesn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounds completely and utterly broken.

“We can fix it, T,” Brendon reassures him, and again, he steps closer. The gun is still pressed harsh up against my temple. I want it gone. Now.

“We can’t!” Tommy sobs painfully. “We can’t fix this. Not anymore. I killed a man, Brendon. I can’t live with that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Brendon insists. “Because we always do, don’t we? We figure things out - me and you. Just... give me the gun. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I can tell just from how Tommy slightly loosens his grip on me that he’s considering it. I believe every word that Brendon says. He does want to help him. He wants him to get better. I think a small part of him still loves Tommy, not necessarily like that anymore, but in the certain kind of way that you will always feel about your first love.

“The police...” Tommy says, “they’ll find me. They’ll throw me in jail.”

“They won’t,” Brendon replies. “You told me yourself, remember? This man was a recluse. He had no family, no friends that really cared for him. Nobody would report him missing because they don’t know what kind of can of worms that would open, given the circles he operated in. It’ll all just be forgotten about. He’ll have just disappeared off the radar and people won’t ask questions, because asking questions in this business is unheard of. You told me all this yourself, Tom. The police won’t find you. You can start again.”

Tommy listens to Brendon’s entire speech with bated breath, as do I. He has such a way with words. I know he’s doing absolutely everything in his power to save both Tommy and me. I just really hope it’s enough.

“Maybe I don’t want a fresh start,” Tommy whimpers. “Maybe I just want you. All I’ve ever wanted is you. But she’s standing in the way!” He bolsters, speaking through gritted teeth and tightening his arm around me once more. Fuck. This is it, I think. This is how I go.

“Tommy, please!” Brendon begs him, voice frantic and fast. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

Tommy sniffs. He pauses for a moment. Then softly, he speaks.

“You really love her, don’t you?”

“I love her more than I’ve ever loved anybody in my life.”

Again, there’s silence. The sun is rising now. Its slick colours pain the sky in gorgeous oranges and pinks and yellows. Such a picturesque beautiful scene, contrasted by such ugly actions. Brendon’s eyes are locked on Tommy’s. I watch as the tears run down his face and I want nothing more than to be engulfed in his arms. My love. My soulmate. I don’t want our story to end.

When Tommy releases me, I stagger forward into Brendon’s arms. Our bodies crash together and I sob as he holds me. He cries too. He clutches my head, and presses so many kisses into my hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispers over and over again. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The click of the trigger pulls me out of his body, and I whip around as quick as I can. A scream rips forth from my throat and I rush forward but I’m too late. I lock eyes with Tommy one last time and I watch as their light fades. He presses the gun to his own forehead and he fires.

He collapses to his knees, head lolling forward. Brendon pulls me back. It all feels so surreal. I know that I’m screaming but I can’t really hear it. All I can feel is Brendon pulling me back into his body. Everything else is numb. I feel myself screaming at him, punching his chest, sobbing my heart out, crying out the same sentence over and over again.

“We could have saved him. We could have saved him.”

I watch as Tommy’s body naturally falls backwards and gravity takes him over the cliff’s edge. I don’t want to look. I bury my face in Brendon’s chest and he holds me close to his body. I hear three soft words fall from his lips, voice cracking on each syllable.

“Oh my God.”

It’s then that I’m reminded that Tommy was Brendon’s first love - the first person he kissed. The first person with whom he made love. I may be all of Brendon’s lasts, but that man was all of his firsts. As I hold onto him, it’s like I can feel his heart breaking.

I don’t know how long we sit there on the ground. Neither one of us approaches the cliff’s edge. Neither one of us wants to see what’s down there. I can’t quite believe that he’s gone. He’s never coming back.

The gun fell with him. If his body is ever found, I tell myself, it’ll look like a natural suicide. It’s over. All of it is over. We can move on, I suppose, but I’m not really sure that I want to. I’m not really sure that I can.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, we rise together, and we walk back in silence to Brendon’s car. Once the doors are closed, we both stare blankly out of the windscreen. It feels wrong to leave it like this, but I know that we have to. This is how we move on. This is our closure. For the rest of my life, I will live with the feeling that perhaps I could have done more, but I’d seen that final look in his eyes and I know exactly what I saw there. It was him letting us go. He knew that if he’d stayed, he would have held us back. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know if I feel anything at all. I’m pretty sure that by this point, I’m just numb.

Across the console, Brendon holds out his hand, palm facing up. I lock my fingers with his. He looks at me with sadness behind his eyes. This hurts like hell right now, but it will fade. It will get easier. And maybe one day, we can learn how to be happy. Right from the start, he’s been absolutely spot on. It’s me and him - til the end of the line.

He clears his throat. “Where now?” he asks me.

Staring blankly ahead for a moment, I wrack my brain for an answer. When I’ve found one, I look into his wonderful brown eyes - the eyes that I love - and I manage to smile.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Somewhere new.”


	32. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. 
> 
> This fic always felt a little unfinished - like I had some loose ends to tie up. I've wanted to come back to it for a while now, and let you all know what happened to Brendon and Gracie after the story finished and we left them. This chapter is far more reflective and from Gracie's mental point of view, rather than plot-driven, but it does end sweetly, in a way that it was always going to end because come on - let's be real, here! 
> 
> I hope you like this. I don't believe in the world 'never' so I don't want to say that this is the definite end to this story and that I'll never continue it, because who knows what could happen in the future. For now, though, this is where we shall leave their story. I think it feels both you and I with a lot more confidence to know that Gracie and Brendon are safe, financially stable, and have a roof over their heads that they can call their own. See! I told you guys that there would be a happy ending. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments below, and if you're interested, check out my current Brendon Urie fanfiction, Broken Legacies, which can also be found here on AO3! Updates regularly. 
> 
> All my love. Bye for now!  
> Olivia

It’s October 1st, and I wake slowly, with strong arms wrapped around my body and the gentle feeling of his breath against the back of my neck. It’s like something out a movie. It almost seems too perfect to be true. But it _is_ true - and it’s my life now. I still can’t quite believe that the two of us went through the utmost hell and somehow made it out on the other side, alive and most importantly, together. I don’t need to look much further than the first few months of our relationship to realise that if we can make it through _that,_ we can make it through anything.

I don’t know what time it is, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s a Monday, but both of us have agreed to take the day off.

“It’s a special day,” Brendon had told me a few weeks ago when it initially crept into conversation, “and we’ll make sure it’s celebrated as such,” and with that, he booked today off from work as holiday. After all, we’re in such a stable position now - we can’t be playing hooky or skipping out on classes. We are so unbelievably lucky to be where we are right at this very moment, and I’ll be damned if I do anything to screw that up.

The first few weeks after _it_ happened were rough. We were jumping from motel to motel, living out of suitcases, and most nights, I cried myself to sleep. It wasn’t anything like a movie back then. It was dark and empty and the world felt like it held no real purpose anymore but despite all the tears and the worries, there were never any fights. Not once did we evaluate our situation and think, “I’d be better off without you.” That wasn’t even on our radar. From the very start, we had sworn that it would be just the two of us, until the very end of the line, and when I make a promise to somebody, any promise, but especially one with that much gravitas, I really fucking mean it.

He’s still sleeping when I roll over, careful not to untangle my body from his. I never like to wake him. It’s cliché, but he looks so damn peaceful when he is blissfully unaware of the world that continues to exist around him. Sometimes I take photos of him, but this morning, the best present I could ever receive is just the pleasure of being able to lie here with him, and let anything outside of these four walls continue to go about its business without disturbing us. My God, he really is my sanctuary. I wish I could put into words how much he means to me.

It’s like he can sense that I’m looking at him, because he draws in a deep breath through his nose and slowly, his eyes flutter open. He looks at me, and I look at him, and time just stops. I should be used to this by now, this feeling of getting to have intimate little moments just like this with him, but truth be told, I don’t think it’s something that I’ll ever grow accustomed to. He’s too perfect to ever feel like mine.

We don’t often use words first thing in the morning. They never really feel like enough. Instead, with a little smile and a lick of his lips, he leans up and captures my mouth with his own, and I kiss him, sighing softly into it, not bothered by morning breath. I really could kiss him forever and honestly, I plan to. I can’t see myself ever letting him go.

When we part, he runs a hand through my hair and I rest my forearms upon his chest, just marvelling at how fucking gorgeous he is.

“So,” he begins, voice a little croaky due to lack of use, “how do you feel? Wiser? Like a new woman?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head at him, leaning in for another kiss. It’s hard to want to do anything _but_ kiss him when he looks like _that._

“Happy Birthday, Gracie darling,” he murmurs against my lips. “Happy, happy birthday.”

*******

We spend our morning in the kitchen, making pancakes, listening to music and laughing. I’m surprised by how much we laugh now, actually, considering how hard it was to do anything but cry for so, so long. I always knew that with time, things would heal,  _we_ would heal and everything would get easier, but I didn’t ever envision a life like this - certainly not as soon as my twentieth birthday.

It took a while, but eventually, Brendon found work. At first, it was only a waiter’s job at a run-down restaurant on the outskirts of a small, cheap town, which meant late nights and bleary-eyed mornings, but it was money, at least, which meant that we were able to secure the rent on our first little apartment, which we shared with another young couple - Jill and David.

They were amicable enough, but Jill liked to ask too many questions and I never felt comfortable with giving her the answers. Brendon and I tried our best to keep ourselves to ourselves. We didn’t stay too long anyway, because by luck, or fate, or pure happenstance, Brendon stumbled across an advertisement in the paper one morning for a secretarial job with an art magazine. It was full-time. It was in the city. It was the ideal 9-5 that we’d been searching for ever since we decided to settle down here. When he received a call for an interview, we didn’t even entertain the idea that he might not get the job. It wasn’t an option that we could afford to dwell upon. He had to get this. He had to.

And of course, to nobody’s surprise, he did, because, well, Brendon is Brendon, and he’s enigmatic and charming and funny. It was why everybody had loved him so much when he was the leader of our parish back home. He was everything you would want in a gentleman. Sometimes I look at him and I feel such an intense feeling of complete and utter _pride._ I may not have been there to see him through his early struggles, but I have seen him through his latest ones, and where I was once frightened to hold his hand in public, now I take it with a smile, and I let people stare if they want to stare. They can call it whatever they want - but Brendon and I both know that our love is good and right and real. It was never anything else. It was always just two human beings inexplicably and undeniably drawn to one another even if they didn’t plan on it. I’ve learned that that’s the way love works sometimes. I’ve learned a lot of things over this past year.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so excited to turn twenty. I’m not just leaving behind a year, I’m leaving behind a whole decade. I’ve always believed that you never need an excuse to reinvent yourself. You don’t need to wait for a certain date or event. You can wake up tomorrow and decide, “I’m going to be brand new today” but even I have to admit that the weight that turning twenty holds is something very special. I feel reborn. I feel like I have this new lease of life and all of my demons have been left behind, trapped overnight in the cage of my dying teenage years. I don’t have to look back anymore - I can just keep looking forward, without fear or uncertainty, because from where I’m standing, the future looks so fucking good. It’s not something that I’m scared of anymore. Instead, I embrace it. I welcome it. It’s like I’m turning over onto a fresh page, my story unwritten, but my pen is poised and I am more than ready for the journey.

Things are better than I could have ever imagined. It’s a few months shy of a whole year since that disastrous day where it felt like the entire world was ending. I still find it hard to talk about, or even think about, because I’m doing so well now, and revisiting those emotions puts me right back in the darkest of places and why would I want to go back there when I can focus on the light?

Brendon’s been working at the magazine for six months now, and the best part of all is that he’s loving it. Accidentally, he let slip that occasionally, he likes to draw, and of course, he was asked to prove his skills. Never one to back down from a challenge, sheepishly, he returned the next day with his unofficial portfolio and his boss was so impressed that he got bumped up in the ranks, so whilst he still works predominantly on the editorial side of things, now and again, he’ll get asked to work to a particular brief, and there is nothing that makes me happier than seeing his face light up when his fingertips slide across that magazine’s glossy surface and he gets to see his own work, right there, in print. Everything that he is, and everything that he will be, makes me feel so unbelievably warm inside. Lots of things about our future together excite me, but I think the thing that I’m looking forward to most of all is continuing to watch him grow.

As for me, I re-enrolled in college at the end of summer and as of next week, I start my course in visual merchandising and marketing. It wasn’t what I was originally studying when I first met Brendon, but that doesn’t matter, because this fits me so much better. I don’t know where I want to end up, but honestly, that doesn’t matter either. Nothing matters but the here and now and focusing on doing my best in the moment. I’ve learnt that living in the past _or_ the future does oneself no good. You have to live in the _now_ and take each day at a time. There really is no other way to survive - and besides, if you’re too busy looking back or reaching forward, you’re going to miss all the wonderful things that are happening around you right now.

I know that I still have so much growing to do. I don’t know who I am, but I know that I’m not who I was and I know that as long as I have Brendon, I’m going to be okay. Life makes so much more sense now that he’s around. When we first started this whole thing, I never could have imagined that one day, we’d be living together in a beautiful little apartment, that we’d be thinking about our future as a couple, that I’d get to wake up beside him every single morning and fall asleep in his embrace every fucking night.

We spend our day exactly how I love to spend days off with him - in bed, kissing, making love, _laughing_. Whilst we’re now in a good position financially, every penny we make goes on rent or bills or food, so we discussed long in advance that presents aren’t going to be something that we’re able to do for a long time, whether that be birthdays or holidays. I’m more than okay with it. I really don’t need anything so long as I have him.

But of course, like I said, Brendon is Brendon, and he doesn’t like to play by the rules. That evening, after he’s made us both dinner and we’ve cleared everything away, we’re sat on the couch watching some romantic comedy that I’m only half paying attention to, when he starts up a conversation.

“Do you remember your birthday last year?” he asks me.

I laugh a little. “Of course I do. How could I forget?”

He looks down on me and I look up at him. There’s some looks that he gives me that just make me melt. This is one of them.

“I never want to spend my life with anybody else,” he says, and I believe him, because I feel exactly the same way. It makes me laugh a little bit.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I ask. “It’s stuff I already know.”

He smiles. “I know. I just… I like to remind you now and again.”

That deserves a kiss, I decide, so I lean up and peck his lips quickly. When I pull away, he’s looking at me funny.

“What?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.”

I don’t usually find B at a loss for words, but right now, that seems to be the case. All I can do is stare at him and wait for him to say something - _anything_ \- because I can tell that there’s something he wants to get off his chest. Maybe he just can’t find the right words?

Oh. No. It’s not that he can’t find the words. It’s not his turn to speak. It’s mine.

I really hope he’s not going to do this the traditional way, because Lord knows we have never been the traditional couple. Please don’t get on one knee. Please just stay sat here beside me, casually, with one arm slung around the back of the sofa, and the other presenting this little black box to me.

He motions with his head for me to take it, so I do, and I open it and look down upon this gorgeous, delicate silver band with one singular diamond. Then I look at him, and I haven’t noticed that my eyes are welling up with tears.

We need no words; we’ve never needed words, him and I, except this one. This one, monosyllabic word falls off of my tongue as easy as breathing and in that moment, it confirms our entire future in a second. This is real. This is forever.  

_“Yes.”_


End file.
